For those who haven't noticed, you've stepped into the Texas Triffid Ranch LiveJournal, the augmentation to The Texas Triffid Ranch, a carnivorous and unusual plant nursery located in Dallas. The LJ is open to comments from all over, but anonymous or non-LJ user postings will be screened. (This is stop spam postings more than anything else, so don't be offended if your brilliant comment doesn't show up right away.)

The Inhabitants: At this time, the regular cast of characters involve myself, my wife the Czarina, two cats named Tramplemaine and Leiber, and The Plants. We may have additional cast members show up, and they will be disposed of listed as appropriate.

The Situation: At this time, this LJ discusses and sticks with the particulars of horticulture, including news, general observations, and upcoming events. If you don't have an interest in carnivorous plants and Wollemi pines, and if you don't particularly want to cultivate an interest in passionflowers or bromeliads, you might want to move on. I'm just sayin'.

The Rules: I'm remarkably liberal in discussion subjects, but anyone who thinks that this is a democracy will be disappointed. Harrassment or abuse of anyone else, for whatever reason, is grounds for immediate blocking. Start a flame war here, and all parties get blocked. If you want to share a link, feel free to do so if it's appropriate to the forum: if you're trying to pitch your latest MLM scam, it's a blocking. I generally give everyone a second chance after six months or so, but any E-mail sent to me arguing about or debating the blocking will make it permanent. I know most people weren't raised Catholic, but just picture that a nine-foot-tall cannibalistic nun with a metal drafting ruler the size of a Scottish claymore is standing behind you with designs on your pineal gland if you get out of line, and we'll all be happy.

Contact: For various reasons, individuals may have reason to send Snail Mail, and all mail missives are gratefully appreciated. Yes, I do reviews. I also do children's parties, and no, I'm not joking. The address is:

Paul Riddell
The Texas Triffid Ranch
5930-E Royal Lane
#140
Dallas, Texas 75230

Well, that's it. Welcome to the party.

It's no secret that I used to be a professional writer before I came to my senses and quit in 2002. It's likewise no secret that enough kind, considerate, and completely insane individuals have been asking about finding examples of my old essays and articles in print form. All of that coalesced in 2009 with the publication of two chrestomathies of previously published material, in the form of Greasing The Pan: The "Best" of Paul T. Riddell and The Savage Pen of Onan: The "Best" of the "Hell's Half-Acre Herald, Volumes One and Two of the Proverbs 26:11 Papers, both through Fantastic Books.

( More details on the books, including ordering information )

Well, now that I've had a bit of a chance to recuperate from the last two weekends, I've had a chance to go through some of the books purchased on my wayward trip to Oregon. Once again, I'm reaching the point with some of my research that the only way I'll find books on some of the subjects I want to read is if I write them myself. (The Czarina asked me to keep an eye open for any good pictorial books on the wasps of the world, particularly involving markings and body shapes, for a new line of jewelry. It's possible to find lots and lots of books on bees, yes, but hunting wasps? You can get the exemplary The Hunting Wasp by John Crompton, but that's both nearly 60 years old and a bit lacking in color photographs.) That said, I reached for my old friends at Timber Press.

The bad news: I really wanted to like Growing Citrus: The Essential Grower's Guide by Martin Page. Judging by the advance writeups, I was hoping for the ultimate guide for citrus of all sorts, including my beloved Cthulhufruit. (Leslie Halleck at GrowLively is wanting to try lemon bars with Buddha's Hand citron zest added to the recipe, and my biggest problem is waiting the remaining four months until they're in season.) It's a classic "it's not you, it's me" dumping, but the biggest problem I had with it was that it's still pretty much a beginner's book, and a lot of same information is available in more accessible sources. Don't let that keep you from buying it if you're interested in citrus (especially for readers in the UK, for whom this book was really written), but for me, I was a bit disappointed. And so it goes.

The good news: "Disappointment" is not a word that can be used to describe Ted Jordan Meredith's The Complete Book of Garlic. I've been fascinated with food science and chemistry for years, and this book has an entire chapter on why chefs need to chop, crush, or grate garlic for the best flavor. Meredith spends another chapter going into garlic's natural history, including its probable origins in Central Asia, and goes into wonderfully obsessive detail on structure, reproduction, and available cultivars. Want to know why you'll see your garlic bloom in the garden but you'll probably never see a garlic seed in your lifetime? Want to know more about the bubils, the tiny garlic cloves that appear on blossoms already ready to grow on their own? Want to learn the difference between softneck and hardneck garlic, and why you always want to plant garlic late in the season? Or exactly why the best way to get garlic's reported health benefits is to eat it raw right after chopping or crushing it? Or the best garlic cultivar for the right dish? Then bestir thy buttocks to your friendly neighborhood bookstore and grab a copy NOW.

I admit that I'm rather passionate about garlic. Roasted, pickled, sliced, crushed, chopped, toasted, baked, dried, and juiced: it's my favorite allium, and one that begs me at night to get a house with a larger back yard, just so I can grow more. And yes, a visit to The Stinking Rose restaurant is at the top of my list when the Czarina and I finally get to San Francisco. Normally, I'd never resort to such over-the-top hyperbole such as "if the one thing between you and this book is a bus full of paraplegic nuns, then it's time for a penguin roast," because it's been done. However, if I were a paraplegic nun, I'd be wanting to take a plane right about now.

Oh, pity the poor New Yorker who can't keep all-white furnishings and rugs clean. Considering that two people, two cats, and Dallas's famous air quality are enough to turn beige carpet a nice shade of dusty caramel after about six months, I wonder what these people would ever do if they had kids. Now if you'll excuse me, I have plans for the new residence: my mother always told me that I couldn't paint the walls black and get matching carpet when I was a kid, and I just remembered that passing the age of consent for home furnishing decisions was half my life ago.

IFixedIt.Com: it's not a humor Web site. It's a travelogue of my birthplace. I swear, I can hear the battle theme of Canada's greatest superhero from here.

Some of you may remember Steadman, my old pet savannah monitor. (For the record, Steadman received his name because of his singular ability to fling feces to a remarkable distance, thus leaving the inside of his cage looking like a Ralph Steadman painting. In this case, Steadman actually had something in common with his namesake, as opposed to my cat Leiber.) When I gave him up for adoption in 2002, never did I figure that he'd turn up outside of Chicago. Do you think I should ask for him back, or do you think the Czarina would beat me more than usual if I suggested it?

Someone over at Slate has a good warped sense of humor, what with running articles on plastics art restoration and decomposition and Michael Jackson's funeral plans on the same day. Sadly, I fear that I've seen this story before.

I have a lot of reasons to love Canada Day. I'm proud of my Canadian heritage. I'm incredibly proud of all of my Canadian friends, and I love you all. I love any country with a province that makes the purple pitcher plant its provincial flower. Heck, I'm even willing to extol the merits of Calgary, Alberta, which I understand makes me a freak in two countries. What do you expect from a guy who can make a solid argument that The Red Green Show and Doctor Who are the same program?

But you know why I love Canada Day falling on July 1? It's because I can convince my American friends that this (incredibly NSFW if you have the volume on and your boss speaks French) is the Canadian National Anthem and they'll actually fall for it, and my Canadian friends would have to travel to Dallas in July to kick my butt up around my shoulder blades. It's kinda hard to catch me when swimming through pools of molten concrete, and that's the only reason why I'm still alive at the moment. Find me a countryman who can tolerate Texas heat, though, and I'm doomed.

As promised, it's time to share photos from the trip up to visit Jeff Dallas and Jacob Farin of Sarracenia Northwest. Remember all of the kudos I've given Jacob and Jeff over the high quality of the plants I've bought from them in the past? Pfft. I was understating the matter. I think I killed a few plants from the copious drooling I did while viewing their nursery. Photos behind the cut, to save bandwidth, but you'll hate yourself if you don't take a look.
( Read more... )
I have a lot more photos, but those are going to have to wait for another time, just because of bandwidth constraints. Suffice to say that I'll sing the praises of Sarracenia Northwest until my throat gives out. (The funniest part of the whole trip was that as I was leaving my house, I looked at the dragonfruit cactus on the front porch, considered bringing a cutting, and then figured "Aaah, they wouldn't want something that mundane." When I mentioned this, and asked if they wanted a cutting, the both of them yelled "YES!" Considering that they refused to let me pay for the plants I purchased, and even threw in a copy of their DVD, I think I'm going to have to find some interesting items out this way for them as thanks for their kindness and consideration.)

Since I promised to get pictures out from the trip to Oregon, we can start with the two overly reputable folks waiting for me at the book signing at St. Johns Booksellers two weekends ago:

Yep, that's sirriamnis on top and biomekanic seated, so now I finally have proof that they're real people and not just cunningly designed software constructs.

The sight that greeted me upon my official arrival in Portland.

And now proof that I have Arrived. I'm ready for my closeup now, Mr. Cronenberg.

The only time anything I've ever written will be in association with "the future of civilization".

Well, with luck, I might be back this time next year, depending upon how quickly I'm able to finish the new book. If I'm really lucky, the Czarina will want to come along. Next: the trip to Sarracenia Northwest.

Coming up for a breath of air. Weekend before last, I was honored both with a book signing at St. Johns Booksellers in Portland and a visit to the Sarracenia Northwest nursery, and the only reason I haven't shared more is because of obligations that came up right after I got back to Dallas. Should you already be on Facebook, feel free to peruse the Sarracenia Northwest photos (sadly many sans captions at the moment), and I promise to go into more detail by the end of this weekend. When I say "it was a trip," I meant it, especially when talking about the wonderful LJ folks I finally had the chance to meet in person. And here I go back down into the deeps.

Considering that a fair number of friends are going to be in Boston at a particularly painful skiffy event, the weekend after next is sounding like a paraphrase of a Bill Hicks routine: "Let's see. You get the overloaded and understaffed hotel and the ridiculously humorless Cat Piss Men who think they're writers and editors, and I get to go to Fort Worth and watch singing carnivorous plants? I'm Jack the Ripper."

Week Two in "Paul finally gets to prove that he's the quiet one in his family." So that things aren't completely quiet, have some fun with Pooktre tree sculptures. And now it's time to get back to work.

Oh, and before I forget, I looked back over the last few weeks' entries, and realized that I was becoming one of those tiresome skiffy writers who doesn't come right out and beg "Please buy my book", but who should just so we don't have to listen to variations on "It's on the Viridian List! Have I mentioned the Viridian List?" over and over and OVER again. Therefore, after this handy reminder, I'm stopping. If you haven't picked up a copy of either volume by now, odds are that you aren't going to in the future, and I'm cool with that. That said, it's time to start focusing on new projects, and these include discovering and perfecting the 87-hour day and the 17-day weekend. Donations for this research are gratefully accepted.

And while we're at it, Scientific American also has an intriguing article on the harvesting of certain soil fungi enzymes for use in converting cellulose into ethanol. Since we're talking about ethanol and not methanol, if this goes past the testing stage, I wonder how this is going to affect medicinal and recreational alcohol production and pricing as well. After all, considering that aggressive filtering of malt brewing residue led to the development of one of the foulest alcoholic beverages ever created by man, I'm waiting for the ads stating "Introducing new Bud Stover, featuring 100 percent pure field sweepings!"

No matter where you stand on organic versus conventional agriculture, you might want to take a peek at a new article on the Scientific American Web site on the potential toxic effects of the "inert ingredients" in the commercial herbicide Roundup. Admittedly, the comments section in itself is grand entertainment, with it rapidly proving that some people have waaaaaaaaaay too much free time to construct straw men and try to get them to march in military formation. No, what fascinates me is that, in this case, both sides could be correct on the issue in their own way. What we may be looking at isn't whether or not glyphosate is safe for use, but whether EPA and US Department of Agriculture testing, without realizing it, may have been asking the wrong questions.

Normally, I try my best to defend my hometown from people whose sole experiences with it involved either the TV show or D/FW Airport. However, for once, I say we get what we deserve. It should be noted that this guy runs his business literally right around the corner from my mailbox, and that I pass right by his store on my bike every morning and evening on my way to and from work. And yes, I look forward to the building containing his store being demolished...preferably with him in it. (The owner sold off the good half of the strip mall, with the best doughnut shop in North Dallas, in order for Chase to build a new bank literally 75 meters from its old bank. However, when it comes to this guy, suddenly the wreckers are nowhere to be seen for years.)

That's right: make furniture that acts just like a carnivorous plant. We're just asking for our entire species to become fuel and spare nitrogen for our new cyber-triffid overlords, aren't we?

More importantly, is there enough room for me to hitch a ride?

It's from Reuters, the purveyors of last year's "tiger tree" cow-eating tree gibberish, but a report on how Indian security forces plan to use chili peppers in hand grenades for crowd control sounds perfectly reasonable, as pepper gas has already been used elsewhere for decades. The idea of using chilies as "a food supplement for soldiers deployed in cold weather conditions to raise their body temperatures" is getting back to the usual Reuters level of factchecking these days, so all is right in the world.

Just as a quick warning, things are going to have to go quiet again, and I may be gone for some time. Between the Day Job, which rules my universe right now, having to get some time in on the new book, and work on a collaboration on a scientific paper, blogging is going to have to go into standby until I can get it under control. With summer bringing the usual seasonal depression due to the uncontrollable glare, the precious hours where I don't feel like sticking crochet needles in my eyes are going to be taken up with these temporary priorities. With luck, I'll see all of you before October, okay?