tommyrot, owwwww. I agree that it's a good thing he chose to take himself out of the gene pool.

And my cats do not come when called. About the only way to lure them is walking around with a handful of catnip. They do normally greet us in the front hallway after work, but I think that's because they're bored by then and we entertain them.

Some Dante of the future will write a poem about them.

With the sign above reading, "Abandon all balls, ye who enter."

The Patriots parade went right by my office. I took pictures that are available from my livejournal (which is under the name theodosia), should anyone be interested in viewing low quality images.

I'm just going to ignore the other conversation.

Lalalalalalala

Anyone want to have lunch with me? I've been sitting alone in the office all morning, and really need to have a conversation that doesn't include the word "Neighborhood"

eta: Oooo, pictures. I don't get the ducks thing. Does the parade continue into the harbor?

OK, MFN, jump in the Pit.

Just ask ita and tommyrot what floor. They will say "Punsters? One floor down."

I've been sitting alone in the office all morning, and really need to have a conversation that doesn't include the word "Neighborhood"

Yes, but what if the conversation DOES inlcude the words "severed testicles"?

I am captive of my office while my deskjet put put puts out 35 pages of labels (it catches paper after printing, so you have to manually pull each one out).

Oh! wait. I just found something fast I can do.

Anyone want to have lunch with me?

Oooh, me. Except a)I already had lunch and b)we're geographically challenged.

I clicked the links. I'm sorry I did. Some people? Deeply stupid.

Catching up on the veg discussion, I love raw tomatoes, and can eat them with no problem at all. My dad's mother apparently had some sort of allergic reaction to them, because she would wander off and mutter unintelligibly for a few hours after she ate them. He said, with some gravity, so I assume he was reporting accurately. Cooked tomatoes and tomato sauce, though rich in antioxidants and other good things, tear my digestive system up. Hence the white pizza without tomato sauce but with thin-sliced tomatoes. I love onions and green peppers and cucumbers, but they are all determined to kill me in as painful and stinky a way as possible, so we no longer have truck with one another.

I like Brussels sprouts, in small and infrequent amounts, doused in garlic butter. Cooked cabbage is an abomination, but I'll eat it raw or slawed, and DH has a recipe for sauerkraut incorporating cumin, carrot shreds and kielbasa that I will happily eat. And I love to gnaw on raw cabbage hearts. Mmm, peppery. I'm with Fred, though, on the yucky overcooked veg.

One thing I have an aversion to similar to Nilly's for tomatoes is cooked squash, and it's not the taste, it's the texture. Squash, zucchini, eggplant...ew, ew, ew! The taste is pretty good, though, and it it's mixed thoroughly with other ingredients to the point that I can't distinguish the texture, I'll eat it cooked. Otherwise, it's small tender yellow crooknecks and zucchini raw in my salads.

As for field greens, kale is wonderful barely cooked and served with a mustard-vinegar dressing, and spinach is food of the gods no matter how it's served. Cooked lightly, yum. Chopped on white pizza, yum, small tender leaves raw with raspberry vinaigrette, yum! Even cooked more thoroughly and tossed with shredded cheddar, a dollop of cottage cheese and/or sour cream and toasted breadcrumbs, yum! I'll even eat canned or frozen spinach. There's no way it can be fixed I won't like.

And while I have cooked and served far more than my share of fried okra, I can take it or leave it. Stewed okra is just somebody's idea of revenge, but adding okra to gumbo or other stews lends its not unpleasant mild flavor and a subtle thickening effect, and I think that is its best use. I will state here, though, that having to cultivate tomato and okra plants and harvest the fruit is a dangerous business, best attacked with a hazmat suit and gloves. I may just be allergic to the plant sap, but it stings, burns, and itches, and I'd rather deal with a rabid dog, actually. With a gun from a distance. No such approach with garden veg.

My cat comes to his name. It only took him two years to learn to come to his name. He started out with a handicap, though, he was feral. So first he had to learn the concept of a name, and then that he had one, and that it was attached to him. He also comes to a cat-level finger-waggle. But he has no referrence for "Kittykittykitty!" because he never goes outside, and our house isn't big enough for him to get lost enough that we'd call him that way. His favorite sound, that he never fails to come to? The ripping-off of the Netflix envelope flap. We ball it up tightly and throw it for him to chase, bring back and chase again, repeatedly. Until finally he gets tired of chasing and dribbling it, clutches it to his chest with his front paws and proceeds to use feather-plucking technique to shred it. Woe betide the human who opens the Netflix and throws the flap in the trash. He knows, The Flap is Rightfully His!

Anyone want to have lunch with me? I've been sitting alone in the office all morning, and really need to have a conversation that doesn't include the word "Neighborhood"

I'll meet you in Loogootee.