Thursday, July 24, 2008


About a month or so ago, Jess and I were getting ready to go to dinner. It was a Saturday night, and we were headed to Mamma Zu, which we deem one of the best restaurants in Richmond. If you're ever coming through here, let me know, and I'll direct you.

It was really windy, but we didn't think it was windy enough to blow our pots anywhere (foreshadowing). We got the plastic ones -- maybe not plastic, but whatever they're made from that's akin to plastic -- with the basins on the bottom, and with the soil and the plants, they get fairly heavy. Or so we thought (again foreshadowing).

Well, a few minutes before we left, Jess went out to get them away from the ledges, or the corners of our balcony, and put them on the floor part of it. I'm walking toward the door to the balcony, and Jess says to me, "Uhh, where's our tomato plant?" (conflict?)

I don't have a green thumb -- though technically I can't say that because this is our first time growing plants and herbs -- but I thought we were both doing pretty well. At first I didn't care about them, especially the flowers. You can't eat flowers, after all (realization). Or at least not the ones we bought (true realization, real time).

But I got into it. There were days where it would go from 70 degrees to 90 degrees, where I'd forgot to water the plants and walk out there to find the leaves of the tomato plant practically tear-ridden, shriveled and weary. A ton of vigor and water, and soon enough the plant would perk up again, practically smiling (pathetic fallacy).

Then we found out some of the fruit had developed -- what I found after I googled "brown tomato spots" -- blossom end rot. Plump green tomatoes everywhere, and most of them rotting from the ends of their fruit. I was disconcerted, and annoyed. I thought it was my fault. And it probably was (guilt). So fruit by fruit we chucked most off the porch, though I was determined to save some (hope). This was our first try, after all (excuses). I read you could buy calcium to put in the water to prevent further rot, but already so many had been afflicted (laziness).

It all seemed to be taken care of when the jarring winds pushed our pot off the porch, leading the entire plant to a three-story, albeit hopefully quick, death (guilt).

But Jess, being the caring person she is, not to mention she's a Physician Assistant, was determined to save it (love). We had lost a good chunk of the plant to its snapping off on the brick below, but another part seemed to be intact. So even in the cracked pot, we watered, we broke off dead leaves, we left it at its side without re-potting or re-planting.

We were holding onto a shred of hope. And then I started to get determined to let the little guys hang on.

And today, I'm proud to report, we have a total of two smaller-than-we-had-hoped Roma Tomatoes turning beautifully red on their vines. With, of course, no rot (victory?).


Around twenty poets so far for the First Book Interviews. I'm in the process of trying to get a website going via blog. Meaning a dot com so I can throw the blog on there.

To be a bit more professional.

And to hopefully continue it more than just a year or so. There are too many great and willing and extremely talented poets out there who I know I'm going to want to interview, so I hope to keep this going for a while.

I'm already grateful to be able to talk to so many sooner than later. If you're excited for it, you should be. And if you're not, you suck.


The title of the post comes from the infamous Viking Quest catch phrase of Johnny Drama from Entourage. I don't know the exact date of Season 5, but September's what I hear.

Giants and Redskins September 4th also. (I purposely didn't add a link to the Redskins)

Plus my mom's birthday and my brother's birthday.

We may not repeat, I understand that. Shockey's gone. Strahan's gone.

But Kiwanuka's back. Our draft picks look sharp. Kevin Boss is going to be solid.

I'm excited.

And there will be much about the Giants on this blog come football season.

September's gonna be good I think.