November's Last Wine Review

As I spent the afternoon cleaning up my office, I have a pile of bottles that I need to toss out.  Before doing so, I wanted to briefly mention them here.  All of these were drinkable, enjoyable, affordable, and bought at my local Bressi Ranch Trader Joe's grocery store.  None of them were more than $10 a bottle with the exception of the Pinot Noir, which was about $16 a bottle if my recollection is accurate.

The Monique Cellars 2016 Sauvignon Blanc Central Coast white wine was pretty good.  Screw top, not corked, it was fine quality.


The Castle Rock Winery 2015 Sauvignon Blanc Mendocino County has a straight-forward label, was less than $6 a bottle, and is shelved right next to the Trader Joe's branded wine bottles I mentioned earlier.  Screw-top also, this wine did not suffer from a poor quality cork, oxidized shelf life, or any skinny or undrinkable aspects.  Recommended as an affordable go-to wine, if you're not near a Trader Joe's.


Kidia Sauvignon Blanc, estate bottled 2016, D.O. Loncomilla Valley Chile.  It had some citrus notes but was not over-powering like a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.  I tried it, liked it, and thought I'd mention it to you here.

Reserva Orquídea Rosario Estate Sauvignon Blanc, D.O. Valle Central Chile.  Like the Kidia Sauvignon Blanc, this was an enjoyable white wine. Also a screw top, shelved beside the Kidia, it was a delicious dual bottle purchase.


Lastly, Trader Joe's Platinum Reserve Pinot Noir Carneros 2015, 1430 cases produced.  Dr Desert Flower really enjoyed this wine, stating it had notes of currant and a smooth follow-through on tasting (as of February 2016 I can't drink red without getting itchy).  I had a sip, and it was yummy.  More pricey near $16 a bottle (or two to three times as much as the other bottles mentioned above in this post) it's not for every-day drinking chez nous, but it is a good recommendation and something we'll enjoy from time to time (while supplies last).



For tasting notes and nuances, it's been too long since I enjoyed these to be very descriptive here.  However, if any of these were bad, I would have either dumped them down the drain, or not mentioned them here... rest assured.

What To Expect After Elbow Surgery

So back in July, I posted here (link here) that I'd screwed up my olecranon bursa on my left elbow by jamming it tween the arm rest and the fuselage of a 4 hour Delta flight to Cincinnati at Just the Wrong angle.  The bursa ruptured, made my arm swell, heat up (infection), and was painful.  If I tried to load it working out with free weights, working in my yard with hedge clippers, or doing yoga (like plank pose) the elbow was painful, wobbly, and no fun.

Bryce Canyon (not how it is not "smooth")

I took methyl prednisone (at the advice and Rx of an Urgent Care doc here in Carlsbad) to make the swelling go do and relieve the pain.  The steroids worked, But, the insidious damage had already begun on the bone itself, following the bursa rupture.  The bursa fluid provided food for naturally occurring bacteria (like staph) to feast upon, and the bones where it spilled (the ulna, for example) provided an Excellent network of a narrow lattice-like maze where the staph could eat, breed, and hide from white blood cells (lymphocytes) whose job it was to envelope and kill the invading bacteria.  Problem is, the white blood cells are larger than the bacteria, and can't get into all the nooks and crannies of the bone lattice work.

The end of each of the arm bones are supposed top be nice, smooth, elliptical shapes, where bursa and synovial fluid sacs keep the hard bone from rubbing against the other hard bone.  The fluid sacs act as cushions, to prevent bone-on-bone damage.  While working out and going to physical therapy with a damaged bursa, the bones were grinding on each other, the bacteria were multiplying and building infected lairs in the bone, and throughout July and August, it kept getting worse.  Bone erosion, bone infection, bursa inflammation... it was a vicious cycle.

So I go to an orthopedist who does an x-ray.  Being versed in radiography, I know how poor the resolution can be on an x-ray, especially when dealing with 3D shapes, since the x-ray is a 2D picture.  X-rays are also notorious for not being able to see much of anything on low density soft tissue and fluids, aka the inflamed bursa and progressing bone infection.  They prescribe more steroids, and tell me to ice my elbow - with a freezing cold ice bath for 15 minutes being the most effective - and continue physical therapy.

As a good patient, I go to PT three times a week, I ice my elbow at least once a day.  It hurts less, but it is still wobbly, and when I try to do heavy lifting (like 180 lbs bench pressing) or heavy curls (like a 65 lbs curl bar) it screams at me in pain, so I stop.  I can do light hedge clipping, but anything requiring significant effort and strength, the left elbow rejects the notion, completely, sends extreme pain signals to the brain, and I halt the activity.

Throughout August I struggle with this troublesome elbow.  It's not getting better, and it seems to progressively becoming slightly worse.  Yoga poses that use my arms become increasingly painful.  Playing drum set is fine for about 5 minutes, but after that, Ouch, Yikes, Stop!  Dancing (with ethanol enhancement) to silly songs like YMCA or Vogue, where hand movements are necessary Truly Aggravate the left elbow and result in pain, swelling, throbbing... driving the infection (that I did not yet know I had) DEEPER into the bone.

Just before Dr Desert Flower and I went to Montpellier France for a work conference at Labor Day that she needed to attend, the elbow started to get red, swollen, and exude puss (yes, very gross).  I go back to my primary care doctor who looks at it, and categorically says "you need dissection, you need packing, you need drainage and vacuum and antibiotics... you Must see an orthopedic surgeon immediately!"  I told her that all orthopedists were booked for at least the next 6 weeks and I had no way of seeing anyone, especially not 2 days before heading to France.  She leapt into action, and made an appointment with Scripps best elbow surgeon that afternoon.  The surgeon re-arranged his schedule, and saw me late that afternoon in his office down in La Jolla.  He took a culture from the oozing elbow, hoping to grow in a lab whatever the infectious agent that was troubling me.  Nothing grew, of course. He also placed me on a massive dose of broad spectrum oral antibiotics (4x a day), to try and kill (or at least subdue / slow the progress) the infection.

He gave me a huge bag of betadine swabs, sterile gauze, ace bandages with velcro, and medical tape to clean and dress the festering elbow while in France.  I dutifully cleaned my elbow with the betadine swabs each day after I showered, and carefully wrapped it in the sterile gauze for the week we were in France.  On the plane ride home, I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, protecting my sensitive elbow from being bumped by other passengers, the passing drink cart, and anything else in the crammed, lemming-like environment that is the coach economy section of international commercial travel, unless you're on Aeroflot.

When I got back to California, I was supposed to have an MRI of my elbow pre-surgery so that the surgeon would know what to expect.  Due to the arcane and byzantine American health care system, the MRI was Still Not approved by United Health care, and I had to waste a day of my life getting an ultrasound of my elbow, instead.  The Scripps elbow ultrasound radiologist took one look at the high resolution image, and said "this is not classical, you'll be getting an MRI".  He pointed to the screen where the contours of Bryce Canyon were showing up on the end of my ulna, instead of the nice smooth egg-shape that was supposed to be there.  Change the angle of the UT probe, and yep, the canyons and valleys and out-cropping were still there, in graphic 3D.  The MRI should confirm it, the radiologist said.  An hour later, United Health Care approved the MRI, and it was schedule for 2 days later, on a Saturday.

The next day (Friday) the Hospital with the MRI machine called, and said they had a last minute opening, am I available?  Unemployed and unable to use my left arm... sure... I was available.  So I got fast-tracked into the MRI the Friday before my surgery on the next Wednesday.  The elbow continued to "weep" out puss over the weekend and right up to the day of surgery.

Holding the vancomycin "hand grenade"

The morning of the surgery, the surgeon's PA (physician's assistant) comes into the pre-op room where I am wearing just a open-backed gown, and asks me "do you know what to expect, what is coming?"  I told her my abbreviated understanding, of surgery, followed by 2 or 3 weeks to let it heal, followed by weeks or months of physical therapy.  "Not quite" was her reply.  She then laid out the whole treatment plan that I had no clue would be so onerous.

It went as follows:
- Wednesday morning surgery to remove the bursa, and pack in antibiotic "beads"
- the infected bone would be removed (picture a medical dremel tool) to 'clean it up'
- stay in the hospital for 2 days, with my arm immobilized in a cast
- go back into surgery on Friday night, and have the beads removed, check on progress of the wound, clean up anything that needs internal clean up
- Saturday, after surgery, if I am stabilized, go home with a fancy portable vacuum pump, that will keep suction on the elbow wound - which they won't stitch closed - to drain fluid and to aid in the healing and closure of the wound over time
- keep the vacuum pump on me for at least 3 weeks, changing the dressing on the elbow with a visiting home health care nurse 3X a week
- install a PICC line (peripherally inserted central catheter) into my right arm, that runs up to my heart's ventricle vestibule, where it will dump out liquid antibiotics that I will infuse at home, twice a day, for 2 hours each dose, for the next 6 weeks
- come back to the doctor's office once a week through this whole process, to check on progress of the wound healing, to take vital signs, and make sure there's no relapse back into infection.

First look at home, after surgery (disgusting, yes)

Ugh!  I had no idea that it would be such a life-halting inconvenience.  If I had been employed at this time, I would have had to take 1/2 days basically EVERY DAY for a month, to deal with this health issue.  Why could they not just stitch up the elbow, like a "normal surgery"?  Then the bursa would not grow back clean and healthy and the bone infection would continue to destroy the ends of my bones.  It needed to heal "from the inside out", and closing the wound before the bursa had fully rebuilt itself from scratch would have a negative prognosis, with re-infection likely.  According to the surgeon, who volunteers much of his time at the local San Diego VA, Afghan and Iraq vets with bone infections from shrapnel fight the infection for months at a time, on and off antibiotics, and the only way to seriously correct the problem is to surgically dissect (dremel tool / bone saw / etc) the infected bone, and then let the body grow it back.

The surgery went fine.  Two hours under general anesthetic.  The final wound was 50 mm long by 20 mm wide by 10 mm deep (or 2" x 1" x 3/8ths of an inch, roughly).  Bursa removed, and 4 mm of ulna dremel tooled off.  Lots of Percocet in the Hospital to deal with the pain.  The re-check 2 days later also went well, beads removed, I was set to leave the hospital on Saturday with my portal vacuum pump... but.. bureaucracy stepped in the way.  Apparently, no one filed the final paper work to get me a pump to take home, send the vancomycin antibiotic to my house, or arrange the home health care nurse visits.  "We're sorry, but you'll need to stay until Monday, or maybe Tuesday, once the paper work is done."  Unacceptable.

The hospital bed was a VERY uncomfortable "smart bed" made by Hill-Rom Versa Care.  It was supposed to "auto adjust" to the patient laying on it.  Instead, all it did, was inflate and deflate, Every Two Minutes, to tilt my pelvis forward and back, legs up slightly, legs down slightly.  It was uncomfortable, disconcerting, disruptive, and impossible to sleep soundly on it.  Whoever the morons at Hill-Rom were who designed this monstrosity obviously never asked for customer feedback.  The nurses Could Not turn off the auto-adjust, or the bed alarmed at the central nurses' station.  Sleeping on this continually moving, hot-and-sweaty, poorly designed, poorly conceived contraption meant that Saturday night in the hospital was a very unhappy & unpleasant & restless experience for me.

Sunday came, and the bureaucrats in "Program Management" continued to drag their feet.  Apparently walking and chewing gum at the same time was a challenge for them.  "We might have a pump delivered after 7pm tonight, but we can't guarantee it... we don't normally discharge patients on weekends".  UGGGHHHH!  And then "Even if you get the pump, we have not gotten any confirmation that you'll get the antibiotics or wound nurse... so it's best to just wait until Monday or Tuesday."  This was not the Riyadh Saudi Arabia Ritz, and I was not enjoying my house arrest.  But my heroic floor nurse "Jose" leapt into action.  Working 7am to 7pm, he forced the system to accept all the discharge paper work, prepped me for going home, and KNEW that if he didn't get me out before the end of his shift, I'd be stuck in the hospital for Sunday night unnecessarily.  Jose's efforts were successful; the pump arrived at 7pm, we left at 730pm, and the antibiotics showed up on our door step via courier at 1030pm.


Then, everyday, from October 16th through November 22nd, twice a day, I had to sit and infuse my IV antibiotics through my right arm, into my heart.  Each infusion took roughly 2 hours.  I watched all of Stranger Things, Luther, F is For Family, the Twin Peaks Fire Walk With Me debacle, Dr Whos that I had not seen, and re-read Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber, finished JRR Tolkien's Silmarillion, and started Iain M Bank's "Use of Weapons".  I could not sweat during this time, as perspiration caused the adhesives on the PICC line to loosen and come off my skin.  The PICC line ran straight to my heart, and getting a blood or heart infection was not something I wanted to entertain.  So a month of being sedentary was required.  I tried learning basic Spanish in this time too... but without someone to practice and converse with, I made little progress on this front.

Every week I returned to Scripps in La Jolla to have the nurses, PAs, and doctors tell me how "beautiful" my wound looked, and how well it was healing.  Every 2 or 3 or 4 days, I showered with a large plastic sleeve sealed around my left arm, and baggies that looked like a shower cap over the PICC line dressing.  Today (Thanksgiving) was the very first day I could shower and use Two Hands!  Hooray!

First wet to dry dressing, jammed in

During this time, the first 3 weeks, I had to wear the $22,000 portal vacuum pump around my neck (even sleeping with it, and recharging it as I slept).  Every Monday, a nurse came to change out the vacuum sealed dressing.  Every Thursday, I went to doctor's office in La Jolla to have them change it again.  After 3 weeks, the vacuum pump was discontinued, and I had to do a "wet to dry dressing".

What's a "wet to dry dressing" you might ask?  (I had no idea what it was).  Well, using sterile technique with nitrile gloves and sterile gauze and sterile saline, the patient PACKS in sterile gauze that has been wetted in saline, jammed up into the wound, using sterile cotton swabs as well as nitrile gloved fingers.  Yes, this is unpleasant and mildly painful.  Then, the jammed in gauze is covered by a 2x2 gauze pad, which is then covered by a 4x4, which then gets and ace bandage wrapped around it, to hold it all into place.  All of this is done using just one hand, since the left hand is too far away from the let elbow to be of any assistance.  The Next Day, using sterile gloves, all the jammed in gauze is yanked out, and the process started again - approximately every 24 hours.  Each time the nasty used gauze came out, it looked like a little piece of lemon peel.

At my Nov 22nd visit, I was told the "wet to dry dressings" could be discontinued, and "put a bandaid on it" .. a large 2x2 inch bandaid...  but no more dressing changes.  And the PICC line was removed, leaving an irritated upper right arm where all the dressing adhesives were aggravating my fair skin.  Once again, the nurses and doctors admired how "beautiful" the wound was, and how well it was healing, which was a very strange things to experience from the patient's perspective.  I am glad that the whole wound process is NEARLY over.  I go back in 2 weeks for a followup, and THEN likely, physical therapy will begin, and last through MLK day or Valentines day 2018.  I will be happy to begin working out again, able to sweat, and re-building lost muscle mass... as soon as the bursa is re-built.  I Do Not want to re-infect the ulna or any other bones, so I have to take it easy on my arms and lift nothing more than 5 lbs with my left arm until after my next doctor visit in 2 weeks.

My friend Joe M texted me several Spanish curse words, to help me learn the slang of the language (similar to how I first learned French).  If you want to call me up, or text me in Spanish during the next two weeks, I'd appreciate the practice.  In the mean time, I'll be working on legs and core and aerobic exercise, until I get clearance from my doctor to begin rebuilding strength in my left arm.

Yes, this Thanksgiving I am very thankful that my wife has a good job with good health insurance coverage that paid for this 6 digit surgical experience, and I am very thankful I don't have to get my left arm amputated.  One armed drummers are not very good.

Humming Bird Happy Hour Bouncer

6 Hummingbirds drinking together in my yard (1 mature Anna's, 2 juvenile Rufous, and 3 Anna's females)

30 minutes before sunset this evening, I sat down in my backyard to enjoy watching hummingbird happy hour.  Hummingbird happy hour is the bet time of the day to observe hummingbirds in a group setting.  The dimming of the sun's natural day light, combined with the abundant availability of established food (11 nectar feeders around the yard) and the inevitability of the arrival of total darkness, draw all the neighborhood hummingbirds together for one long, deep drink of high energy sugar water before the long night's embrace.  The diminished light makes the Brilliant plumage that the dominant males of all hummingbird species develop look much less spectacular, mottled, dull, which puts ALL the hummers -  the dominant males, the fearful juveniles who sport just a goatee, the confident mature females (who are the same size as the mature males, but look they a lot like juveniles) and the immature new fledglings - on nearly equal footing.

Mature Rufous Male Hummingbird

I've enjoyed dozens of hummingbird happy hours here in California.  In Arizona, I saw 2 Anna's hummingbirds at a feeder, once.  Here in California, I've relished dozens of twilights that included a dozen or more birds all sharing resources, before going into their semi-catatonic sleep for the night high up on a secluded branch that's strong enough to barely hold their own weight (less than 21 grams, in most cases).  Tonight was the First time that I observed a vociferous, possessive, pugnacious male Rufous dominant male who continued to chase all other thirsty birds from the 2 feeders right outside the living room window.  One of the 2 feeders is a 4 holed solar PV lit feeder without any perches, so the birds have to hover as they drink.  Six feet away is 10 holed feeder that has a circumferential perch where I've counted as many as 9 hummingbirds drinking at one time (but I've not been able to take a picture of them in this way, yet), sharing resources, peacefully, and making me a very happy & satisfied human that I could create such an environment where I could 'bring the hummingbird community together', and be lucky enough to see them sharing.

A yellow jacket trying to get into one of the 10-holed feeders

Generally, the 2 feeders outside of Dr Desert Flower's office's window in the front yard are dominated by Rufous hummingbird males.  They hang out in the palm trees looming above, or in the oleander bushes a few feet away, or on the top of a skyward pointing succulent frond, observing the 2 front yard feeders, chasing away any other bird who comes to drink, With The Exception of mature females who the males are trying to woo, court, convince, and then with whom they want to copulate for all of 2 seconds while in free-fall from 200 feet in the air.  So Much testosterone and energy goes into the male hummingbird's daily routine, to bully away, ward-off, intimidate all other males and all other species, and try to romance only the mature females of their own species... it makes the plumage and prancing and jousting of a male peacock look blasé in comparison.  The Rufous males don't normally intrude into the back yard... or so I thought.

This evening, I listened to a proud dominant male Rufous sit up in my neighbor's tree above my backyard, chirp and whistle, claiming his dominance over 3 feeders that could be seen from that high vantage point.  I watched as this proud dominant male Rufous would swoop in, and chase away single birds, groups of females who were sharing the feeder, any creature who came near to the fears he now claimed.  This was ruining my happy hour observations.  Twice, I got up from my chair, glass of wine in hand, and stood near to the feeders.  The mature female visitors, who have been around the block and understand better how the world works, did Not see me as a threat, and they drank nearby, almost within arm's reach.  They were wary of the large hairless ape drinking from a wine glass, and they would have flown away if I had made sudden movements, but the pugnacious Rufous male would still come swooping in, Past My Head, and scare them all off.  This could not stand.  No little Rufous male is going to ruin my evening.

2 hummingbirds enjoying the feeder under my suppressing cover-fire

I thought quickly... how could I ward off this mis-guided cretin who never learned how to share, or get along with any other birds?  I remembered a recent Luther episode where a killer wielded a large orange squirt gun full of acid and blinded witnesses around London.  I recalled I had a large un-used squirt bottle in my laundry room that I'd not filled with anything, and ran into the house to fill it with water (no, not acid...  I am not a monster).  I'd used squirt guns to dissuade naughty house cats in the past, before I realized I'd become intensely allergic to them.  I hurriedly rushed back outside to sit with my wine glass and squirt bottle.  My wait didn't take long.

The dominant male Rufous swooped down almost immediately to ward off a dominant male Anna's and an Anna's female, in the dwindling twilight.  His angle of attack took him around the back of the feeder where I did not have a direct line-of-sight, but after he ran off the two other birds, he tried to get a drink from his coveted feeders.  My aim was exact, and the first squirt of water sent the Rufous off the feeder and back up into his tree observation post.  Two more female hummers came in to drink, and as the male Rufous dove down from the tree, I blocked his descent with a barrage of squirts that the gave him pause, and he perched in the jasmine about 8 feet behind the feeders.  More females arrived, and joined their sisters drinking.  5 visible birds at the feeder... but the Rufous male couldn't contain himself, he tried to drive them off.  I sent a salvo of 5 or 6 squirts that sent him into retreat.  2 of the drinking females rose off the feeder to note what was going on, But Then Resettled onto the feeder to resume drinking!  A dominant male Anna's, the NBA players of the hummingbird world due to the fact that they are generally 20% larger than any other hummingbird, settled down at the 10 holed feeder along with the bevy of females and juveniles.  "Hello ladies!" was the look in his little black eye, as he figured he'd hit the happy hour jackpot.  But it was short lived.

A fully mature, dominant Rufous male, perched outside my office, who thinks he "owns" the feeder there.

A moment later, the stubborn Rufous male Again dove at the feeder.  All the birds scattered, and I zeroed in on the bright white collar the mature Rufous male wore and hit him at least once, got close 2 or 3 times, and he fled again.  3 of the 5 females Returned and resumed drinking, under my cover fire.  The Rufous took up station back in his high tree branch, and I aimed upwards towards the little miscreant, arching far over the top of the feeders where the girls were enjoying happy hour, and the mature Rufous found this rebuff to be "too much" and flew elsewhere.  Finally, success!

So if you're a female hummingbird, regardless of species, you're more than welcome to come drink in my yard at hummingbird happy hour.  If you're an Anna's, Blackchinned, or Costa's mature male or a Rufous juvenile, and you know some boundaries and how to act publicly and behave at happy hour, you're also welcome to enjoy delicious high energy, fresh nectar in my yard.  However, if you're a trouble maker, you will be ejected, and refused re-entry into my yard's airspace.  If you persist, you'll be targeted with squirted tap water, which will make flight more difficult, frustrate your petty attempts to monopolize the abundant nectar in the feeders.  The unexpected wetting at dusk, combined with being chased away form the public feeders, may make it more difficult for you to remain warm over-night, but having a warmer, more friendly demeanor will be in your favor going-forward (over-come your instinctual programming, little punk!)  ... or just stick to the front yard, where the Rufous battles are pretty much perpetual.  The backyard feeders have a happy hour bouncer, who is more than 4000 times your mass, and who enjoys having a peaceful, sharing, community atmosphere at dusk.

Wonderful White Wines from Trader Joe's

I have an enormous collection of wine bottles on my desk, that for months, I've been procrastinating in blogging about.  I've always had something else to do for the last several months that was more pressing, whether it was working out, going to physical therapy, having elbow surgery, going to job interviews, going to France with DDF for her work conference, going to Jackson Hole for vacation, post-op doctor visits, energy consulting on the phone with clients, cleaning out and refilling the 11 humming bird feeders around our yard, getting 6.29 kWHrs of solar PV panels installed on my roof, re-reading old Zelazny books, learning introductory Spanish, or reading a new Iain M Banks book... but I've grown so tired of all the bottles taking up space and getting dusty, that I am going to do a shot-gun blast review of all of them this afternoon, and toss the bottles into the recycling bin this evening.

First off, the Trader Joe's "Petit Reserve" bottles are not bad.  They're sometimes slightly better than the standard fare at Trader Joe's.  Sometimes they are slightly worse / less tasty / off-a-little-bit, but they're never "pour down the drain bad", as some low cost wines and poorly kept high-end wines can be.  Many of them are screw top, and I personally have No Problem with screw top wine bottles, since
1) they are easier & quicker to open
2) the wine never suffers from cork rot & the resulting spoilage
3) they are slightly less expensive to manufacture, and that savings can be passed on to me by responsible grocers
4) they don't deplete the cork rainforests of Portugal and the endangered cork monkeys who live there (Portuguese cork monkeys are a fictional invention from my old friend Todd, from more than 20 years ago)
5) convenience: anyone can open them anywhere, without having to hunt up a sommelier / cork screw (like when you're away from home, traveling, or in a hotel room)

The Petit Reserves from Trader Joe's that I have tried are as follows:
Sauvignon Blanc, Horse Heaven Hills, Washington, 2016 - it was ok, drinkable, not bad for a Washington wine (and I am sure if you're from Washington that you Love your local wine, and that's fine.  I don't hate your local wine, it just didn't WOW me, or impress me, to the point of making a post all about it). For $7 a bottle, it was not bad.

Sauvignon Blanc, Sonoma County, 2016 - For $6 a bottle, this was some dern good wine.  I hope the recent fires in Northern California didn't destroy the inventory or the vines, as not drinking this again would be a loss.  This wine has a light citrus note, but NOT anything like a puckering New Zealand grapefruit abortion that completely ruins my palate & meal.

Sémillion, Napa Valley, 2016 - another $6 bottle that was not bad.  It had a nice buttery finish that some sémillions often do, but the long notes on the tongue were not as pleasing to me as the Sauvignon Blanc.

Pinot Grigio, Monterey, 2016 - fine for a $6 pinot grigio. Sweeter than the Sauvignon Blanc mentioned above, bit not riesling sweet.  If you like pinot grigios and don't want to pay $18 Santa Margarita prices, save $12 a bottle and buy this instead.

Other Trader Joe's wines that are not "Petit Reserve" that I've enjoyed, include:

Trader Joe's Coastal Sauvignon Blanc, Central Coast, 2016 -

This $4.49 bottle is the staple that I
keep 6 to 12 bottles on-hand, in the wine fridge, at all times.  This goes with everything.  It's not too sweet, nor is it too dry.  It causes me to have zero hang-over the next morning if I drink the whole bottle (or more) the night before.  My liver likes it.  My tongue likes it.  I like it.  I've given bottles to the neighbors' before, and if DDF and I are invited over to a friend or neighbor in California and we bring wine, one or more of the bottles will likely be this one.  It is my inexpensive & delicious "go to" wine, that I buy by the 1/2 dozen whenever I go to the Bressi Ranch Trader Joe's here in Carlsbad.











Trader Joe's Grower's Reserve, Sauvignon Blanc, made with organically grown grapes, 2016 - this $9 bottle was pretty good.  It had a smooth finish, light citrus notes, not at all overwhelming, and was enjoyable to drink; especially nice for an organic wine at a reasonable price.  If I was hard-core 100% organic all-the-time every-day, I'd probably switch to this, but since I am more than 1/2 century old now, and more than 1/2 of my life span is behind me, my passion for all-things-organic is more reasonable now.  If I can peel it, and I am not eating the skins, then organic is less important to me.  Yes, yes, I know biology experts, that what it is grown in and what it receives as nutrients during its life-cycle determines what its content is going to be.  I get that.  I also get that when I was a very young man (in my teens and 20s) I never thought I'd live past 40 or 50 at best, so now each day is sort of "bonus time" that I originally had not counted on ever reaching.  If this organic sauvignon blanc was AMAZING and Life Changing, I'd proclaim it from the roof tops, but to me, it was a good sauvignon blanc.  Enough to write home about, but not enough to turn into a short story or a novel.

I have several more bottles to write about, but one can only sit inside and blog for so long when it is 65 degrees Fahrenheit outside, with a light breeze, here in Southern California.  I know other parts of the country are experiencing a "normal November" of cold temperatures, cloudy skies, and frost each morning... but I blog today with my windows open, wearing shorts and a tee shirt, and I've not yet picked up my mail from the central mail down the street, so 'nuff for now.

Fresh Fish for Lunch

As long-time readers of JustJoeP are aware, I have an affinity for ospreys (links here and here).  They're the biggest raptors one can find at the beach here in southern California.  They successfully fish in both calm and rough seas, and they are as comfortable in the water as they are in the air, "shaking off" excess sea water after they've snatched an unsuspecting fish from the ocean.  While I've seen the occasional harrier hawk, red tail, and kite hunting at / near the beach and Batiquitos Lagoon, it's the ospreys that capture my attention and fascinate me.

Last April, when I had been notified that I was getting laid off after 20 years of devoted service, just so that Evil Corp could try and appease activist investors who demanded lower fixed over-head costs by letting go all of their experienced remote workers like myself, I had just finished practicing yoga at South Ponto Beach when I spotted this impressive osprey heading from the beach towards a high voltage utility poll near La Costa & the PCH, just next to the South Ponto parking lot.  Camera in hand, I took pictures for a solid 20 minutes as this successful apex predator enjoyed its lunch of fresh fish.  The fish was more than a foot long, and weighted enough that the osprey had to Really Exert Effort to fly with it to the pole.

I slowly walked up to within 100 feet of the base of the pole, snapping digital photos along the way.  A magnificent bird, eating a fresh meal.  Likely a juvenile who has not yet mated and built a nest to raise a family, or the meal would have been at the nest and not on the pole, above a busy intersection.

My hope is to resume yoga practice at the beach once my post-elbow- bursa-dissection surgery wound is fully healed.  That Might be December... but it also might be later in 2018 some time.  I do hope to see my neighbor the osprey again soon.

Analytics & Payroll loses to Talent & Drive

Congratulations to the Houston Astros for their victory in the 2017 MLB World Series game seven last night.  I live in Southern California, but I've not embraced the SD Padres as my "home team" yet, since I am a life-long Chicago Cubs fan.  The Cubs won last year...  after 108 years of trying... which apparently opened a trans dimensional portal that let a racist, xenophobic, ignorant, non-reading 10 year old in a 70 year old's carcass, with Vladimir Putin's direct assistance, become President of the United States.  The Cubs can wait another few dozen years before trying to win again - I don't want them to become the universally hated NY Yankees who have been to 40 of the 113 World Series (winning 27 of them).  The Houston Astros had never won a World Series, and it'd been 55 years since they were formed as a team...  so it was about time (even though I will ALWAYS think of the Astros as a National League team, as they've been the majority of my 1/2 century of life).

My actual Cub's hat, bought before they won the World Series in 2016

While the Houston Astros Did rely partly upon analytics, they had been drafting and recruiting some of the best players in major league baseball for years.  They wanted it.  They worked hard for it.  And their manager "could talk analytics all day long, but more often went with his gut and what the situation required" (I heard during Game 6's broadcast, Joe Buck saying it, I think).  The Brooklyn Dodgers... I mean LA Dodgers, paid millions of dollars for analytics, had The Largest payroll in all of MLB, were in the 2nd largest media market, but had worked out a despicable cable deal that MOST of the Dodgers home games Could Not Be Televised in LA when the stadium in Chavez Ravine that seats 56,000 was not sold out - the largest stadium in all of MLB, beating the damn Yankees by 3000 seats.  When the camera panned over the crowds during foul balls, you could see 1/3rd of the most expensive box seats showing EMPTY blue seat backs during Game Seven of the World Series!  EMPTY Seats!?!?  Wrigley Field only had empty seats during the World Series in 2016 from people using the bathroom, and it was < < much less than 5% of all box seats, even when some of those seats were going for $2000 each.

Thanks Jen for the gif!

So the Cubs had been the proverbial underdogs, and they won last year.  The Astros were the underdogs this year, and they won.  I'm a habitual under-dog supporter...  which I partially attribute to going to more than a dozen games at Wrigley as a kid (two of the three games I went to at Comiskey Park ended up with our vehicle being broken into... and the third one, my older brother and his friends picked up a Ford Escort and turned it 90 degrees onto the side walk so that our car would fit... they were very big boys).

Now,  you maybe asking yourself: "Why does JustJoeP oppose analytics so much?" Well, I credit that to my 20 years of working at one of the world's largest companies, where we made model after model to predict how the systems and components would perform in the field, how well they would be able to be repaired, how many times they could be repaired, when they'd need to be repaired, and when they would stop working for our customers.  It was Big Data, little data, good data, bad data. comprehensive data, partial data... and all that data was scrutinized by dozens of mathematics PhDs, data analysts, and engineers to come up with complex analytics that were supposed to add tremendous value, both for the company I worked for And for their customers.  Sadly, after more than a decade of trying to apply these analytics, revising and revising them, combing and scrutinizing the data and transfer functions repeatedly... the analytics Could Not Replace subject matter expertise; AKA experience.

Subject Matter Experts (SMEs) like myself were leveraged to make better models, sort & parse data, review repair reports, outage reports, customer issues, design reviews, root cause analysis... but no matter how hard we tried, and how many times we revised models, they still were far off the mark, much too conservative, or far too liberal, rarely ever accurate on predicting reality.  It was a Very Complex environment, with a very complex product and no two customers were the same or operated identically, that the analytic models Could Not Cope With the all of the Variation accurately - much like MLB!  Sure, if you start and stop very few times, and operate in a gingerly, gentle, non-stressful mode, the models worked marvelously!  But that was less than 5% of the all the customers, so the models and their predictions were virtually worthless in the big picture.   But saying that, admitting it publicly, was as deadly as saying that the Emperor had no clothes, when 99.997% of the sycophants had been telling the Emperor how amazing and awesome his clothes really were.

On a post-script, I do not and will not watch Wisdom of the Crowd as Crowds, by definition, are pretty emotional, stupid / ignorant / misinformed, reactionary, and prone to herd mentality.  Similarly, the same goes for the majority of analytics.  In limited applications, for narrow goals, Big Data Can Be useful, and perhaps partially accurate.  But in the Vast Majority of situations, applications, and concepts, data analytics usually don't have accurate predictions or reliable results.  Junk in = junk out.  Getting all the data "in" to be pristine, relevant, and representative of what is going to happen in the future is expensive, time consuming, and virtually impossible.  Anyone who tells you differently, is lying.

Run Like Hell

Not only is Run Like Hell a great Pink Floyd song from their amazing album The Wall, it is also what Tormund Giantsbane shouted to all of his comrades at East Watch on top of The Wall that had guarded Westeros from the dangers of the north for more than eight thousand years, in that fictional world.
(again, spoiler alert... if you have not seen the season finale of Game of Thrones, season 7, read this post after you've seen it)

The season finale was epic, dark, beautifully done.  I won't go through everything here scene by scene, but it IS Worth watching, for all of the ends it ties up, and the new circumstances it presents to the viewer.  Jaime does the right thing. Daenerys still knows how to make a Grand entrance.  Cersie remains one of the largest forces of selfish evil in the world, perhaps equalled by The Night King?  The Hound becomes more likable.  Arya is lethal with her blade. Sansa embraces her family before sycophants.  Sam enlightens the all-seeing three-eyed raven, who needs to get better at predicting things and warning his family about them, instead of just looking all white-eyed in his wheel chair.  The door was held closed for you, FFS!  Do something useful with your new super power Bran flake!

Now, in a physics based world, The Wall was made out of indestructonium since it stuck out into the Narrow Sea at East Watch, and yet after 8000 years of the sea water buffeting against it, The Wall  Never eroded.  Therefore, indestructonium must be one of The Hardest, Most Erosion Resistant, Most Corrosion Resistant, Most Crack Resistant initiating & propagating substances to ever be written about, in any book.  Indestructonium has to be magic... created by magic... shaped by it... maintained by it... However, with such formidable strength and durable properties, there comes a price.  Action / reaction.  If a magic dragon, hatched from an egg that had turned to stone long ago, but when that stone egg was heated in a funeral pyre back in the season 1 finale... and then that magic dragon gets killed by a magic ice javelin... and the thrower os said javelin then resurrects the dead dragon as an undead dragon...  then the magical power of that weapon of mass destruction apparently can over-power 8000 years of ice masonry and indestructonium's use as a long-standing barrier.

As I watched what remained of Viserion repeatedly blast the architectural marvel that was The Wall on Sunday night, I thought to myself:

- is this hot blue fire?
- is this ice coming out of the dragon (like a Gygax dragon)
- is it some kind of psionic blast or energy beam?
- perhaps it is plasma, like that of a white dwarf star?  (but then the undead Viserion would have its own gravitational pull, since it would be far too dense)
... and it wasn't until I talked to my buddy Ryan when he explained to me that it was "magic" and that only magic could defeat magic...  um... ok.  Sure.  I won't think this through any deeper than I already have.

If it is magic breath from a magic beast that was impossibly hauled out of a semi-frozen lake north of the wall by the magical ruler of the magically animated and magically commanded undead, then why not let all that magical confluence take out a long-standing 8000 year old wall?  Sure. Indestructonium be damned!  There's magic at work here!

In that case, Daeneryrs and Jon Targaryen (yeah, He's not a Snow nor a Sand) and their remaining two dragons will likely / should likely be magically destroyed by the Night King and his undead Viserion WMD, and all the steel wielding soldier of Westeros be swarmed by the +100,000 horde of white walkers heading South.  Cersie and all of King's Landing should be wiped out by the undead horde, and all of Westerosy civilization should end as we know it.  I know that doesn't make for a good story or series finale... but if an undead Viserion can destroy an 8000 year old formidable piece of magical creation in less than 1 minute, then it won't take that much longer to kill both siblings, their riders, and let the ground army swarm anything that is still warm-blooded.  I am 99% certain that season 8 and all of GoT won't end that way... but if I was writing it, and I included The Wall coming down as it just did... then that's how I would end the series next season.  3 episodes at best... and then everyone is now part of The Walking Dead.

Whenever You Flash Those Baby Blues

(If you have not watched this week's Game of Thrones, don't read this posting, as it's full of spoilers)

As I accurately hypothesized, a month ago on July 18th (link here), the Night King did indeed kill one of Daenerys's three dragons, and he's turned it into a "wight dragon" or undead dragon, white walker / white flyer dragon.  He didn't need any of his 3 undead giants to throw a spear and kill the dragon Viserion, as I had theorized. No, apparently, the Night King is a Winter Olympic medalist in the javelin throw (I know the javelin throw is a Summer Olympics sport...  but it is still funny.. thank you my friend Ryan), and he has some wickedly powerful ice javelins at his disposal.


So now, for the first time in Westeros, there's a dragon under the power of the Night King.  This sure puts a massive twist into the plot.  Will the dragon breathe fire, as a living dragon would?  Will it breathe ice, now that it has been turned into a blue eyed thing of terrible beauty?  Will it not be able to breathe fire or ice, but still be huge, formidable, and destructive, and will it try and kill it's mother at the Night King's command?  We shall see (il faut voir).

For all of the positive points in last Sunday's episode,
- massive numbers of white walkers torched by 3 dragons
- Arya recounting the story of her father watching her archery practice
- Thoros explaining how drunk he was when he stormed Pyke with a flaming sword (back from a Season 1 reference)
- Tyrion giving counsel to Daenerys to not be like her father and other tyrants before her
- a white walker polar bear, killed by an obsidian dagger (dragon glass)
- lots of flaming sword action
- Arya not killing Sansa and taking her face
- Jon Snow trying to give Jorah back his sword and Jorah respectfully refusing to take it

... there were some MAJOR plot holes & inconsistencies that didn't make much sense to the logical thinking viewer.  Sure, they were necessary to move the story forward, but things like:
- The Flash like capabilities of Gendry to run massive distances ALL the way back to East Watch in just a few minutes, in what took the group hours to traverse
- the existence of a non-frozen lake, north of The Wall (why hasn't the ice wall melted, if a simple lake remains un-frozen?)
- why use steel swords to fight white walkers when steel doesn't kill them... obsidian does (Jorah has this Down, he gets it)
- the apparently "light speed traveling ravens", who could get from East Watch to Dragonstone instantaneously, and then the light speed flying dragons who could get from Dragonstone to East Watch in just a few minutes (perhaps the dragons can teleport?)
- the failure of any of Daenerys' dragons to take out the white walker leadership (pictured above) before they could kill one of them (dragons are supposed to be smarter than most humans, per Tolkien et al)
- Jon Snow's ability to hold his breath in freezing cold water, and swim while clothed in soaking wet furs, climb out of the lake and onto thin ice that doesn't continue to break (I spent alot of time out on frozen Big Pond between Highland and Hammond in the winter when I was a kid... ice doesn't freeze THAT irregularly, to be able to support men and horses, and then just break, willy nilly, with solid edges strong enough to support the weight of a man climbing out... that's why you need a rope or a ladder to extricate someone who has fallen into a frozen lake)
- the sudden convenient plot device of undead-but-still-pure-of-heart Uncle Ben Jen Once Again, appearing out of no where to save the day
- the sudden appearance of two MASSIVE ship chains, in the middle of No Where, north of The Wall, with which to hoist out a dead Viserion from the semi-frozen lake
- the appearance (off screen, not shown) of incredibly strong, white walker cold water divers, who could jump into the lake that had previously wiped out many of their numbers, wrap the mysteriously appearing massive ship anchor chains around Viserion's punctured neck, so that the dead dragon could be hoisted out of the water (maybe the Night King used his 3 undead giants for the underwater work, and then didn't bother to use the giants to pull out the corpse, instead having 100s of frail & decomposing wights pull on the massive ship anchor chains instead?)



So now, the questions I have are as follows:
1) will the wight dragon formerly known as Viserion be used to melt a hole in The Wall, through which the horde of White Walkers will pour through?
2) if the undead Viserion can no longer breathe fire, will the undead giants be used to bash down the rickety, poorly maintained tune, door through which Jon Snow and Tormund Giantsbane's party passed through, so that the horde of undead can pour South?
3) When Daenerys and Tyrion sit down with Cersie for parle, assuming they bring the writhing white walker they captured (if the Night King doesn't just make the captive die or shatter), will Cersie be convinced that the threat from the North is real?
4) will obsidian weapons be distributed to everyone, or just Jon Snow's army and the Free Folk get them in order to dispatch white walkers?
5) Since geography doesn't matter, ships can sail around a continent in less than a day, ravens and dragons can traverse 100s of miles instantaneously, Lannister armies can march on and destroy High Garden in just a few days... how many hours or days will it take for the Night King and his horde to reach King's Landing?  It Should Be just one or two days, like "the next episode" and not "next season", considering all the previous precedents around geography & time set by D.B. Weiss and David Benioff.  Perhaps old Walder Frey's "The Twins" can be destroyed by dragons so that will stall the horde slightly.

I'd really hoped that the 3 dragons would torch all the white walkers, and this would be the last season of Game of Thrones... but Weiss and Benioff love money so much, they're going to milk the series for all it's worth.  Dethrone Cersie, put Daenerys on the throne like she's always wanted, draw & quarter Euron, let Jon Snow and his 1/2 sister Daenerys rule happily ever after. Conflict resolved, game over... but... that's why I am not a Hollywood producer or multi-millionaire; il faut voir.

The Wire's Lester Freamon

Over the last month I watched all 5 seasons of HBO's The Wire (music post here: link) and really enjoyed it.  Each season focusing on a different aspect of life in and around Baltimore.  Written, vetted, acted, filmed, directed really well, with an excellent pace, rhythm, focus; I highly recommend watching it, and not just saying "I love the wire... but I don't know any of the episodes" as most Umerikuns have stated at some time in the past.  I'd only seen bits and pieces when staying in hotel rooms, disjointed, I could not appreciate the magnitude of the series.



In retrospect, when I look across all the 100s of characters presented throughout the 5 seasons, the one character who stands out as the most likable, most relatable, least flawed, in my perspective is Lester Freamon, played by the excellent actor Clarke Peters.  Lester was one of the oldest & least appreciated detectives on the BPD.  Politically incorrect, doing "what was right" before considering how it would damage his career's trajectory, Lester's steady hand and clear mind was refreshing in each scene in which he appeared.  Fastidious, meticulous, tenacious, passionate, determined, driven, mentoring, patient, enduring, curious, insightful, intelligent, level headed (usually), deductive, adept, and righteous.  He was "good police".  As the 2nd oldest member of the last engineering team I led (with most of the other team members being 20 to 25 years younger than me, who looked up to me) and mentored, it makes sense that Lester is the one I could identify most closely with and with whom I could empathize.

Yes, in The Wire, Lester sometimes drank too much, but who doesn't drink too much sometimes? (Ben Franklin always said not to trust the man who drinks water when everyone else is drinking ale... and I do not disagree with old Ben).  Lester had quite an R rated vocabulary and tone, especially when he was justifiably incensed, but again, that's a common human trait.  I know I have from time to time.

The other character I could closely relate to, ironically was also played by "a Clark" - Clark Johnson played the city desk editor Augustus (Gus) Haynes.  Gus worked for metric driven stuffed suits who placed morality & honesty on a much lower priority than glowing recognition and public perception.  Sadly, I've worked in roles like that as well, far too often in the past.  Gus was only in the final season, and not throughout the entire series, so I didn't have enough time to relate to him, and how he dealt with tools like Scott Templeton... but I have a personal appreciation for Gus's daily struggle.

If you've not watched The Wire, you really should.  Especially if you are stuck in a airplane, a hotel, or on a couch recovering from an orthopedic injury that limits your mobility.  It'll be time well spent, eye opening, enlightening, and informative.

National Pine Cone Reserve

When I was a kid growing up in Highland Indiana, every year my parents worked diligently in preparing for our parish's "Christmas Bazaar" where arts and crafts and all sorts of Christmasy goods were sold to raise money for the church and school.  My mom would work with the volunteer ladies who made crafts.  My father would work throughout the year in his workshop in the basement, sawing, coping, gluing, clamping, painting various pieces of woodwork (bird houses, paper towel racks, etc).  Most of the goods had a Christmas theme to them, and wreaths, holly, and pine cones were common-place.

So imagine my surprise when I ascended the hill across the street from my home, and found the drainage culvert up there FILLED with beer-can sized pine cones!  As I walked further along the hill-side, I found hundreds, if not thousands of pine cones; many wheelbarrows worth of pine cones.  If mailing goods was cheaper than it is (I recently mailed a very light package to Chicago, via slow snail mail, and the postage costs were almost as much as the contents of the package!) I would send mass quantities of pine cones back to Highland so the church volunteer ladies could craft them into various & sundry Christmasy goods.  Also, geography conspires against us.

Torrey Pines Beach Yoga

Back in June, I drove Dr Desert Flower down to Otay Mesa so she could get a Fast Pass Global Entry and bypass the log immigration ICE lines that always exist when crossing into the U.S. from Mexico.  After I dropped her off at work, I stopped off at Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve, just off the PCH, with my State Park annual parking pass & yoga mat in hand.  It was a sunny day, when I parked at the beachside parking lot, and crossed the steep road that ascends up to the top of the Torrey Pines bluffs, located a mostly-flat spot that over looked the beach, and I rolled out my mat.  It was a new place in which I've never practiced yoga before.  I thought it would be a good morning.


Within about 10 minutes of beginning my practice, a thick marine layer began rolling in.  By "thick" I mean the 50 yards between the water's edge and I became occluded by mist to the point where I could no longer see the sea.  I could hear the waves... and the mist made me pretty damp and sticky, but I could not bask in the warm sun nor see the waves rolling in and crash on the beach.   (These were 3 to 4 foot waves, that made quite a crash, when they rolled in)

After more than 1/2 an hour in the wetting mist of the thick marine layer, I called it quits, rolled up my mat, and headed home.  (the gray backpack pictured here, was the last time it was usable... more on that in a future post).  It was interesting to note that the marine layer marched in from South to North.  Right Behind me, was a steep incline that lead up to the Torrey Pines bluffs, more than a 100 feet above where my mat and I were.  I could visibly see wisps of mist condensing as the wind drove the moist air against the cliffside and spiraled past me, within just a few minutes of taking this photo.

I'll practice there again, as it was scenic, natural, and inspiring... far better than any flatulence or sweat scented yoga studio.  Beach yoga studios are the kind of environment I call "my happy place".
= )

The Allure of Organic Tomatoes

Dr Desert Flower loves fresh tomatoes.  I prefer my tomatoes cooked... but I will tolerate a fresh tomato sliced on a burger if it is an option.  DFF has been trying to grow tomatoes on the East side of our home, where the side yard gets about 3 hours of intense late morning sun after our M class star claims high enough to shine over the 5 foot tall masonry border wall.  The eastern garden was not very fruitful.  Either because of the limited UV window, or the poor soil, and poor drainage... or the legacy of the cornucopia of chemicals (both pesticides and fertilizers) that the previous homeowners left us in the garage's "cabinet of death" we found when we moved in... we were not sure.  But we gave up on the side yard, and moved a large potted tomato plant to the sun drenched court yard at our front door.

The front door court yard BAKES in the mid-day.  The 2 story southern facing house wall reflects a good deal of heat energy, the concrete warms up considerably, and the tomato plant basks in all of this solar radiance.  Tomatoes have been plentiful, producing almost 1 a day (6 to 10 a week) over the last month.  Then... we started seeing little black "rice grains" on the concrete around the base of the plant, and many of the leaves were completely eaten.  Turns out, the "rice grains" were "castings" (not inconel castings... insect larva poop, caterpillar droppings), and DDF identified the perfectly camouflaged caterpillars as cabbage loopers, laid by a moth who loves tomatoes.  These loopers - which look like Sesame Street Inch Worms when they are young and little and cute - can grow to the size of an adult human's pinky.  They are relentless.  They are perfectly hidden on the plant, mimicking the exact same green color, latching on underneath a large leaf, gripping the stems with their multiple caterpillar legs tenaciously, and chomping into the plant viciously with 4 alien-like jaws.

Each day I water the tomato plant as a good unemployed husband, after applying for 3 to 5 jobs.  Each day I look for the tell-tale black "castings" laying around the plant, and if I find any (as I do about 1/2 the days I look), then I closely inspect the plant, looking for the devious little critters who love tomatoes as much as DDF does.  When I find one, I toss it out into the lawn (previously using my fingers, but I've placed a small pair of needle nose pliers out on the table in the court yard, as the loopers put off a green defensive slime when gripped between fingers... and I don't need any more inflammation in my life) and let the birds eat them; peacocks and peahens are frequent visitors to our front lawn.

The interwebs told us to use dish soap solution, sprayed on the plant, to discourage the loopers, as a way to not harm the fruit or plant.  Yes, a bubbly dish soap (we use Dawn) DOES make the little young loopers fall off in distress, and one can easily find them on the concrete.  But the fat, puffy, fully-grown adults completely ignore the dish soap sprayed on them, even when I spray it DIRECTLY on them, leaf inverted, directly impinged, 10 or 20 squirts, all of its little feet tenaciously gripping the poor little tomato plant, undeterred.  All of this caterpillar assault has left the tomato plant undaunted.  In fact, the tomato plant has re-doubled its efforts in producing fruit, as if to raise a big middle finger to the insects who are trying to destroy it.  That's good news; more tasty tomatoes chez nous.

Anatomy of a Volvo Headlight Assembly

Last month I was driving to Pep Boys in Encinitas, when all-of-a-sudden, my Volvo C70 dashboard told me that one of my head lights was out.  I'd never had a car tell me, as the driver, that the head lamp was burnt out.  Convenient and serendipitous that it happened on the way to the auto parts store.

I purchased (2) replacement lamps, figuring that if one burnt out, the 2nd one would likely burn out sometime within the next year, and headed home to figure out how to change it.  Volvo was Way Ahead of me, and had already designed in an extremely simple & straight-forward mechanism "designed for maintenance".  Unlike most engineers, I took out the instruction manual (age has proven to refer to the directions first, before breaking something additional in ignorance) and found that Volvo had implemented a 3 sided alignment pin that was a small aluminum spike.  Withdraw the spike, and viola, the entire head lamp assembly easily slid forward to allow bulb replacement.



On Hondas, Chevrolets, Infiniti, Fords and Mazdas, I've struggled and strained to get head light bulbs out of blind or hidden assemblies, by feel.  With the Volvo C70, it was incredibly simple.  So simple in fact, that when I had to return to Pep Boys (because they sold me the wrong model head lamp the first time... from a counter person who didn't understand the specificity of exact part numbers... but the manager corrected the error on my return) ... I was able to replace the head lamp In The Parking Lot, easily.


I was very impressed.  If only all car makers and all consumer goods manufacturers had thought this through as thoroughly as Volvo has done... servicing their products when parts need to be replaced would be So Much easier!  Now.. if the same care could have been applied to the location of the oil filter... instead of being buried behind the engine and above the hot exhaust manifold, then That would have been awesome!