34,685 and Dumpster Diving

I have no idea how other players manage to rack up scores in excess of 60,000. Since downloading Snood the highest score I’ve been able to achieve is 34,685, and that is after 12,928 games. That’s been since June 17th, 2001. I’m thinking maybe I’ve just hit some sort of plateau, but at least I achieved this new high tonight. It’s a long, slow learning curve for some of us.

This morning I arose far earlier than I’ve grown accustomed to and drove to Big City Hospital to get yet more bloodwork done. Traffic was completely bollixed up due to an accident that had occurred on the major expressway that runs through the middle of the city. There are virtually no other ways through the city unless you want to travel the city streets themselves, block after mind-numbing block of ill-timed red lights. So that’s what I found myself doing at 7:30 this morning: block after block. There have been times that I’ve regretted I’m not a city-ite. Access to major museums, concerts, special events all within easy walking distance. Then I hit traffic like this morning’s and I realize there’s a reason everything has to be within easy walking distance. There ain’t no way you’re going to be able to drive and get there on time.

At least my early morning departure gave me a chance to see the morning glories in full, dewy bloom. This is something I’ve been sleeping through, getting downstairs in time to see the flowers in their wilted last stages. The recent passage of some large storm systems (with more on the way) has inspired the vines into another growth spurt, and many of the vines have now climbed completely to the top of the fence, with their excess flopping down.

I’ve been particularly amazed by the bush-type morning glories. They’ve the deepest hue of purple I’ve ever seen on a morning glory, with spectacular splashes of white and yellow inside. A few of the bush-types have white blooms with the palest of pink markings, and they make a nice contrast to the other more colorful flowers. I’m definitely going to plant these again next year.

The other flowers have, for the most part, been equally spectacular. I’ve been having a grand time taking pictures and playing with close-ups using my digital camera. These shots don’t really do justice to the blossoms.

Speaking of local beautification projects, I fear I ignored yesterday’s advice from a valued commentator and proceeded with organizing my computer room. The Socialist put together my storage shelves for me, and then slipped the unit into place in previously useless closet. I wasted no time filling most of the shelf space with items that I previously had no home for. The resulting change in my room has been nothing short of remarkable. Take a good look at this:

That, my friends, is carpet. To explain further, that is carpet I haven’t seen since I moved into this apartment last year. It is floor space devoid of boxes, bags, and gizmos. It is previously uncharted territory. I’m thinking of getting a print of that picture, framing it, and hanging it over my computer desk. It is a thing of beauty.

And this is what made it all possible:

That big brown slanted area in the left of the closet is the ceiling to the stairway that leads from the first to the second floor of our apartment. The storage unit that The Socialist spotted for me and then constructed for me fits nearly exactly into the only flat floor space in the closet, and has expanded my storage area by a factor of five. My keyboard, my button collection, my father’s photographs, unused picture frames, my embroidery yarn … they all have a place to call home now.

Of course, that was the easy part. Now I have to rearrange the furniture in here so that I’ve a sensible set-up to work with. One large bookcase, one three-piece corner unit bookcase, two very full metal file cabinets and a complete-piece-of-crap computer desk need to be reshuffled. Please give your sympathies to the Socialist. I’m not allowed to lift anything over 15 pounds, so you know who the poor guy is who’s going to pull the work detail on this is. I’ll have to come up with an appropriate “thank-you” for him.

And then there’s Kitten. It seems that Kitten has a new pastime. Kitten has learned the fine art of trashcan tipping. It’s a new fad; all the best toys start out as trash in a trash can. And there is only one way to get to these toys.

When it involves humans, I’ve always referred to this sport as “dumpster diving”. It was something my ex was a pro at. Somebody else’s garbage frequently came home as The Engineer’s treasure find of the day. When I was in school I knew fellow students who managed to find their entire set of home furnishings by scanning the bins and boxes on the curb each trash-collection day. Now I find that this gene appears in other species as well, and Kitten’s Dumpster-Diving-gene has become fully activated.

The problem with Kitten’s dumpster diving is that her dumpsters are my trash cans. Each morning for the past week I’ve gone downstairs to find at least one of the trashcans upended and raided. As often as not, it’s the lidded kitchen receptacle (purchased on the foolhardy notion that the lid would cat-proof the trash). She’s also taken to knocking over the wicker trashcan by my writing desk and the can by the television. The other two cats (no fools they) don’t seem to be responsible for most of the breaking-and-entering, but they aren’t above making raids once the contents of the trash cans becomes available without requiring any exertion on their part. Part of me wonders if Cattitude and O’Beast didn’t put Kitten up to it to begin with.

Today though, Kitten gave me pause for true concern. I caught her staring wistfully out the window, watching two new neighbors collapsing moving boxes in the parking area and then throwing them into the dumpster. I have fears that she may be taking it into her little pea brain to take her newfound sport to the next level. I watch the front door very carefully now when I’m going in or out. One misstep and the next thing I know the little grey furball will be out of the apartment like a streak of lightening, and dragging back broken chairs, worn-out rugs and dog-eared Che Guevara posters.