The Nest is Empty

Yes, Koo, La Koo, Mom Bird and perhaps Dad Bird have apparently flown East to catch the All Star Game in St. Louis. When Plot opened the curtain to see what was new in the nest this morning, he found it empty. Now he'll read about doves to discover whether or not they will use the same nest next Spring.

Yesterday, they came to say good-bye to Plotnik while he was watching the Plotzer game in his studio. He looked out the window to see Mom Bird teaching Koo or La Koo how to walk. They walked together up and down the top of the fence and Plotnik barely had time to go get his camera. Plot said "Hi there!" and that was that. They're all off into the world now.



It always catches Plotnik by surprise to discover how satisfying are these small glimpses into the processes of nature. He's had a ball with the Bird family and can't wait for them to return again.

Meanwhile, take the first ten books you see, go to page 56 and copy down every word you see, including sketching all the pictures. Then take a photo copy of the pictures and play them backwards on your stereo. You will hear Paul say "I am the Devil."

Belly Umbrelly

The BellyBone is working on her Geisha umbrella twirling routine. How cute is this?



The yellow roses take longer to develop, as the plant has gotten too tall, but the flowers are really beautiful, especially when contrasted with the Fragrant Cloud red rose, which has the most beautiful scent of all.

Sanchez and Kemp

This man threw a no hitter for the Saint Plotniko Braindead Caribbeans last night, while in Milwaukee this man hit a grand slam home run in the 10th Inning and then saved the game for the Stiletto City Plotzers with a Willy Mays-style over the head basket catch in the bottom of the inning.



Jonathan Sanchez was somebody the Caribbeans had given up on, but he showed them what he's made of last night. And his father was in the audience -- the first game dad ever saw his boy pitch. They'd better put Sanchez Senior on the payroll.

Matt Kemp is even younger than Sanchez and is a superstar in the waiting. What Plotnik loves is that as Kemp ran off the field last night after that amazing catch, he shouted "Willie Mays Hayes! Willie Mays Hayes!"

You probably have to have watched a lot of baseball movies to get that one, but amen, Brother Kemp.

Ko, La Koo and the Hippie Bastard Shit

Yeah, we know, we know, you're sick of baby birds. But these sing! Or rather, being doves, they coo! Now that's a gorgeous sound to wake up to. And doesn't that nest look like a nice cozy place to live?

Mom and the babies appear to be doing well. Their names are Koo and La Koo. Put together this equals Koo La Koo, which for all Plotzer fans of long ago, will prompt delicious ice-cream-sandwich memories.

And coo they do. We're hoping they stick around a while longer, 'cause the neighborhood cats could never get to them in that little crevice where their apartment is.

Dad was spotted on the deck this morning, unless it was the rental agent. We hope they are paying their rent on time.

Got a call yesterday from The Great PD, who is discovering that the lovely apartment they've been living in, where the landlord lived upstairs and there were only the two families living in the building, is not the usual Big Apple Apartment Nightmare.

They are moving into a large apartment building with many tenants and an absentee landlord with a rental agent in South Brooklyn who knows or pretends to know little. The company has renovated the apartment but it sounds like they've done the absolute bare minimum required by law when it comes to electricity. This means large rooms with only two plugs. Welcome to the ol' New York Extension Cord Shuffle. Of course, high quality power strips with grounded gfi's now exist, thank goodness.

What Plotnik remembers most about living in the Shmapple is that every time it was really cold outside, he'd step into the shower and there'd be no hot water.

If he had to talk to the super, he was out, and the rental agent didn't answer his phone and the owner was a landholder corporation in Coral Gables.

The neighbors painted their apartment next door and their cockroaches climbed out of their apartment and through Plotnik's windows into his apartment. Their path went across his sofa. If Plotnik sat on the sofa, the cockroaches didn't even notice. They'd simply crawl up and over his legs as they moved to their new home in the indoor plant box where he had his avocado plant.

Do you know that boric acid does not even come close to working on New York cockroaches? New York cockroaches have entire recipe books, published by celebrity cockroach chefs, where boric acid is a prized ingredient. Being small, they like small plates. They prepare delicious tapas, like Free Range Avocado Plant Leaves with Boric Acid, Diatomaceous Earth and Raid Ragout.

Has Plotnik written about being hauled into court because his band was rehearsing in his apartment during the day? (Admittedly, he'd be pissed off too, now that is, not then.) You know, the part about where the accuser screams HIPPIE BASTARD SHIT at him for five full minutes in the courtroom before the judge can calm her down and dismiss the complaint?

Remind him to.

Ooooh, there they go. KOOOO! LA KOOOOO! Priceless.

TWO Little Birds! and a Meeting at the Carb Crack House

Ducknik hear a lot of chirping in the nest this morning, so Plot held up the camera and discovered Mr. and Mrs. Bird have TWO little dove-niks in there. Look closely and you'll see brother bird right in back of sister bird. You can only see his eyeball. This is so cool.

Earlier, Plot and Duck walked down to Tartine, zigzagging their way through Snowy Valley into the Mission to meet up with celebrated children's book author Nguyen Michael Jackson Goldstein Bossanova for their semiannual overload at the Carb Crackhouse. She is doing great, even though tomorrow is her birthday and it has an 0 on the end. She's got her second book due out in September and is busily toiling away on her novel, which is about a child with many names that change every blog posting.

Happy _0th, dear RVR or NMJGB. These names are confusing even me.

Memo to Tartine: all the pastries were overbaked today, though we left not one crumb. But if you're getting bored with all this, please let us know.

There's a New Little Bird-Nik!

Early this morning, Plotnik noticed that Pop Bird was back, protecting Mom Bird as she continues to sit on that nest in the eaves under the upper deck.



But then he looked closely at the photo he was about to post -- look yourself and you'll see there is a third bird! This little guy/gal has all the family resemblances, and Mom is still sitting on him, so he must have either just hatched or is resting until breakfast is served. Mom Bird sat on those eggs a long time, so it's nice to see her work was successful. Congratulations Mr., Mrs. and Junior Bird-Nik.



Many thanks to the Great PD for forwarding a fine photo of Mischief for yesterday's post. Actually, he sent two. One is up yesterday and here's the other. Good dog! Good dog!

Thoughts About the Old Boy

It costs $104 now to fly to Stiletto City, if you don't reserve 21 days in advance. How'dya like them apples? Looks like the ol' 6 hour drive is coming back into view. Flying only saves two hours, door to door, but it's so much easier on the body, especially when you've seen every sight there is to see from here to there and there back to here, ten times over.

Once you get off the Bay Bridge heading East and South there is only wasteland. Aside from the one decent fruit stand, near Avenal State Prison, there are no stops worth making, unless, of course, you have Mischief with you, who needs to be fed Junk Burger in the Box.

And Mischief isn't coming West any more, sorry to say. The boy just doesn't have his travel chops together anymore, to say nothing about all the hills he used to love running up and down but can't anymore, and the cats who have become arrogant in his absence, and the bones that get composted instead of buried somewhere (but he's not allowed to chew on bones anymore anyway), and the delightful deposits that needed to be made in the neighbor's yard.

Now, the neighbors have moved away and nobody cares for what used to be such a beautiful garden (that benefited from all that organic fertilizer). What's worse, poor old Mischief has become, dare we say it, old.

But think where he's lived! New Mexico, first, when The Great FiveHead found him abandoned with a "LOST DOG" sign around his puppy-neck, then Chicago, then New Orleans, then Stiletto City, with an occasional lengthy stay in Saint Plotniko, and now Brooklyn NewYawk. Those are some fine places to live, Mr. Hound!

Plotnik cleaned out his freezer the other day and found the sack of lamb chop bones he'd been saving for the Chief. How old were those?

Ehhh, rats. Without Mischief, that drive to S. City is a real bore. Mischief makes everything better. Good dog! Good dog!