Department Of It Took Longer Than It Should Have To Figure It Out
As it is our neighborhood’s trash pickup day, residents have dutifully wheeled their green (for household garbage) and brown (for yard waste) garbage cans to the curb. I walk, and keep looking around, my nose reflexively wrinkling in disgust, thinking, who hasn’t picked up their dog’s crap? I occasionally stop to check the bottom of my shoes and the tips of my Exerstrider ® walking poles, hoping I didn’t step in, uh, “anything”…
….until I realize the smell is not in fact coming from the soles of my shoes (yay!), nor from the sidewalks or gutters or streets, but from every other trashcan I walk by.
My keen sense of deductive – or is it aroma-tive? – reasoning tells me I am passing the garbage cans of dog owners, who have disposed of their Fido’s waste within.
Phew ( p.u.?) – glad to have figured that one out. I look forward to the chillier, odor-quashing mornings of autumn and winter.
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Department Of By The Way
If you’re still with me, here, you just read someone’s writing about festering dog turds on a hot August morning.
And you kept reading.
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Department Of Further Information On The Eclipse I Did Not Describe
The total solar eclipse I didn’t feel capable of describing was featured in last week’s post. One aspect of the experience I can describe is how much everyone in our group  enjoyed the t-shirts MH made for us, to celebrate/commemorate the occasion.
This solar sartorial satisfaction was not limited to our band of eclipse groupies. At our viewing spot (overlooking the Lake Billy Chinook Gorge), which our group shared with about 20-30 other people,  many of the hitherto-strangers-to-us approached one or all of our group and commented on how much they *loved* the elegant simplicity of the shirts’ design – who did it, and boy-howdy could we have made some money if we’d set up a roadside stand selling them, ’cause they’d seen a variety of eclipse-related souvenirs but found none of them attractive and hadn’t been tempted to get anything, and then they saw all of us, each one sporting those Fabulous Shirts ® ….
Department Of It’s A Small World In Astronomy Haute Couture
Turns out even people who weren’t even there liked the afore-mentioned shirts, thanks to social media. Our astronomer friend and trip organizer MM posted pictures of the event on his FB page, which caught the eyes of two astronomy fashion bloggers.
Yep, you read right. There is such a thing as an astronomy fashion blogger (and it’s about time, isn’t it?).
Two New York City-based astronomers have a blog – http://www.startorialist.com – with possibly the best-ever motto:
Where science meets fashion and scientists get fabulous!
Yet again, I digress. But with good reason. You really ought to check out some of the duds on their site. These Ladies of Luminosity are legit – they’ve been written up about their expectation-defying interest in promoting science-inspired style. There’s a whole cosmos o’ celestial chic out there apart from Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s vast vault of vogue vests.
So: MM contacted MH and let him know that the startorialist astronomers had noticed our group’s groovy shirts, and had asked MM for more photos and info on how you made them. Generous and Humble Citizen of the World ® that he is, MH decided to forgo the opportunity to get all exclusive-y and copyright-y and make bazillions of dollars on Etsy: he sent the startorialists more pictures, and shared his trade secrets (i.e. provided step-by-step instructions as to how he’d made the shirts), which y’all may be able to read on one of their upcoming blog posts.
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Department Of Why Aren’t You Seeing This Movie?
Wind River is starkly beautiful, foreboding, poignantly distressing, lyrically blue, with unanticipated moments of dry wit/gallows humor…not sure of an adequate term for some of its droll dialogue. Superb writing and directing by Taylor Sheridan, who also gave us last year’s engrossing Hell or High Water. And it’s always nice to see the underused Canadian/First Nations actor Graham Greene in action. 
Just go see it, okay?
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Department Of Passing Comments
Dateline: Sunday afternoon. MH and I driving home from our errands-running. The panhandler sat on a chair in the median by the traffic light. He was puffing away on his nicotine death stick delivery system cigarette with a laconic-yet-defiant, fuck yeah I’m gonna spend your donation on my tobacco smirk on his face.
The why-you-should-give-me-money sign he held read:
Too ugly to prostitute
too honest to steal
“He forgot, ‘Too proud to beg,‘ ” MH muttered.
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May your walks be perfumed by the sweetest scents nature can provide;
May you always keep reading past the turd stories;
May you have the opportunity to get science-fashion fabulous; 
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
* * *
 Who gets to decide what is “too” warm for an Oregon morning? I do. You didn’t get the memo?
 Sixteen total: MH, K, Belle and I, plus twelve Californians – longtime friends and their families and S.O.s (plus two dogs, which, of course, didn’t want to miss out on the eclipse action)
 Whom, we assumed, had also previously checked out likely viewing spots and decided, “This is the one!”
 What happened to all the footnotes? There should be at least five.
 Ah, that’s better.