Pathetic.  And clearly, the fact that this story has gone national indicates that I’m not the only person who thinks so.

The fact that the suspect appears to be a complete moron – alerting a talk-radio show of his actions – only makes this more infuriating.

Here’s some video, courtesy of CNN.

And yes,  Asst. Professor Stephen Enloe “the emotional agronomist” is adorable.  But the camerawork is horrible: not just because they cut off the top of his head but – most importantly – there’s no shot of his hand….just guessing that a few people are looking to see if there’s a ring.  No help from his webpage either.

Sad.

I couldn’t remember the second-to-last book I read.

Why discouraging? Because I am one of those nerds who honestly believes there are ‘so many books, so little time,’ as that t-shirt says.  So if I dedicate time to reading something, I want to remember it.

Also, I had an interesting conversation a few weekends ago.

I will rewatch movies (interesting question – why not say review? That would seem appropriate in terms of etymology, but definitely seems inappropriate in terms of usage.  Has its meaning changed?)  all the time.  But I only read a few books over and over again.  Same reason I’m upset that I forgot my reading history? An oddly appropriate thought in terms of the book I just finished.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera

To every thing, there is a season; AP English Lit: not a good reason.

So I read it again, hoping to understand more than the five-paragraph essay required.

Reading again means weight[ ]

If question mark, should buy hardcover; if period, should start writing essay.

The fact that I can’t remember why we discussed book indicates former.

But maybe question mark means I should start writing.  After all, narrator admits making up characters, making them light; Rereading book would mean the action would be repeated, making the book heavy.  So confusion gives the book heaviness.  Wouldn’t Kundera like that[ ]

I’ve been appreciative of the wisdom of our early builders lately, as the 50+ inches of snow that has fallen in Boston so far this year has been a sort of permanent coating on our roof.  We even had a dog walker stop to ask where we bought our roof rake.

Right now, there are ice dams lining the gutters on the house…even after spending about six hours over the past two days raking snow off the roof.

A steeper pitch to the canvas covering the boat would also be nice.  My brother and I spent a nice afternoon wrestling icebergs off the top of that.  (And by the way, this activity confirmed that the majority of an iceberg is underwater.  If you can’t figure that out by looking at ice in a drink, then I recommend trying to grab and lift an iceberg out of a pool of water on top of a boat. You can’t do it without getting soaked.)

So, this whole ice-dam prevention is turning into sort of an obsession for me; which is really pathetic because it means that I’m literally spending time watching snow melt.  But sometimes it just reminds me that sometimes the best solutions are the most simple.

Also, we’ve gotten about six inches of new snow in the last 8 hours.  I’m anxious to get out and shovel off the roof.

Anyways, we’re going to try and keep up with this now. See how that goes of course. I must think of it as an exercise, that is all. Try out some stuff.

I have to read before bed, and I read fast, so I read a lot of books.  In fact, I conspicuously consume books.  I feel like it’s a good thing to conspicuously consume – I rarely buy them new (what’s the point?) I read them multiple times, and they’re good decoration: colorful, utilitarian, and classy snobbish (honestly, who didn’t take philosophy in college for any reason other than to display the books to look smart?)

So, I thought I’d start listing the books I’ve read with a short review.  To be different, and challenge myself, I thought I’d try a review in verse.  I’m no poet, but it’s good training: you have to really understand words, and the word count is stricter than any other genre.  So, we’ll try it out.

First up:
The Wapshot Chronicle by John Cheever

Yankee shibboleth, “Wapshot.”
An excellent introduction to New England.
But are contradictions, superficiality, nuggets of New England’s antediluvian granite surfacing after generations fertilizing the soil?  Or farmer’s  foe – gnarling and stunting crops so they excel as a barrier, allowing visitors a beautiful glimpse but encouraging them (and the short-story king) to pass on by, not welcoming them inside?
“Problematic,” agreed.
Well, I can only get better!

So, I have a lot to catch up on.

I wish I were a poet, able to articulate what this tree means, and extend its life through words so that it might be venerated alongside Wordsworth’s Yews and Xerxes’ Plane.

But instead I said NOOOOO!, embarassedly explained what had happened to my publisher and boss, and was told I couldn’t a day off to go see it cut down.

Yes, I know this makes me a huge nerd.   Perhaps it reveals some sense of insecurity as I nostalgize about a New England that nurtured and influenced the ideals of the country and Western civilization.  But is it not comforting that, despite revolution, civil war, economic disasters, disease, and more, something kept growing?

Herbie has shaded the corner of East Main St. (Rt. 88) and Yankee Drive in Yarmouth, Maine, since approximately 1750. Its 110-foot-high branches, trunk that weighs 10 tons and spreads over 20-feet in circumference, and 120-foot-wide canopy will be cut down January 18, 2010

I first saw Herbie while in college and researching a project for my urban history class on the impact of Dutch Elm Disease on the American landscape.  I didn’t even know what an elm looked like, but as I started researching the trees and remembered how often elms appeared in American literature, I became interested.  My biology lab professor told me about Herbie and, during Spring Break, I had my parents’ car and went to visit.  I couldn’t believe it.  To think that New England’s streets used to be lined with trees like that.  From then on, I checked on Herbie every chance I could.

Although I didn’t know that I would become a journalist, that story was also, interestingly, the first time I got “scooped.”  The Republic of Shade came out that spring.  I wasn’t upset, however, I was thrilled – somebody else had shared my idea!  And they had gotten Yale University Press to publish a book about it!  Maybe I did have something worthy to say.

For more information on Herbie, please visit here.

I know I’m late, but I can’t get over this:

This woman is fascinating.  Would a male politician risk this maneuver?

HA!

Apparently the altitude isn’t the only thing that’s high in Breckenridge.

I love it.  In my sheltered upbringing, I never considered the association skiing and mind-altering substances. Even in freestyle, where serious jumpers popped advil to alleviate the change in air pressure, I thought that drugs were present (and explained such lapses in judgement as attempting backflips in a mogul course) but not an integral part of the “lifestyle.”   I mean, combating changing air pressure while doing uprights at the base of a mountain in New Hampshire?   Clearly the actions of hardcore stoners…

But then I went to Colorado, where more terrain and less congested trails enable a very different culture.  And although I never skied there, I spent a summer in Steamboat Springs with the Forest Service checking out pine beetles at the ski resort and, well, we found just as much evidence of weed as bugs (I’m trying so hard to resist the bad pun on roaches…) Anyways, one day I asked my friend why he always close to hike straight up the slopes under the chairlift instead of taking the switchbacks.

His reply: “I can’t tell you how many bags I’ve dropped off of chairlifts.  I’m hoping to score, man.”

I fully expect that he now lives in Breckenridge.

As if the pine beetles weren’t enough:

Aspen forests in Rockies are being hit by a disease that is killing groves of trees, according to an article in the Wall St. Journal.   Sadly, the article reports that biologists are unsure of what is causing this die-off.

Scientists are very concerned as aspen are being pressure by several other factors.

Aspen are an early succession species.  They are fast-growing and thrive in full sunlight (in fact, aspen’s bark produces a powder that helps the tree reflect light and, in a jam, can be used as a sunscreen and is an ingredient in natural beauty products) so they colonize disturbed forest, especially forest disturbed by fire.   Unfortunately, fire suppression has reduced the opportunity for aspen to colonize.

Furthermore, they reproduce asexually through suckers, genetic clones sent up from the tree’s roots to colonize new areas.  Thus, entire stands can be dominated by a single set of genes and interconnected through a massive root system that can cover over 100 acres and could quickly spread infection as occurs with Dutch Elm Disease.

But even in areas where fire occurs but the disease has not spread, aspen are under threat.   Successful policies to encourage large game animals has resulted in huge elk and deer herds that decimate the regenerating aspen.  In 2001, I was part of a wildlife crew at Lincoln National Forest in New Mexico that used 15 foot high plastic fencing to protect regenerating aspen stands from elk, deer and cattle.  Probably 50 percent of the forest in our district had burned within the past 3 years, with most occurring the year before I arrived, and I will never forget seeing herds of nearly 100 elk running through burned trees.

Nor will I forget trying to chase elk out of one of our enclosures.  Elk considered regenerating aspen to be candy, and they could get into the enclosures through the smallest tears or by digging under the nets and decimate the regenerating plants in a couple of days.  One afternoon, we found a yearling bull elk inside a five-acre enclosure.  For the next two hours, a friend and I tried to chase it through an opening we made in the fence.  It was horrifying: I was outside the fence and my friend inside the enclosure, and we were herding the animal along toward the opening.  The spooked animal repeatedly galloped into the almost-invisible fence (we flagged the black plastic mesh with ribbons of orange tape for hunters and animals to see but it was a still day so the tape wasn’t fluttering in the breeze and elk are colorblind) and thrashing his head whenever his velvet-covered antlers or hooves would get tangled in the mesh.  At one point, the elk tangled himself so close to me that I could see his bloody antlers (velvet contains many blood vessels to stimulate growth) and the panic in his eyes as the fence snapped his neck backwards like he was being clothes-lined.

By the time it escaped, the animal was exhausted, bloody, and easy prey.

(text of Pine Beetle article in comments)