I'm having a friend for dinner.

The preparations are almost complete. The table is waiting. I will have the finest lighting. It will be set with fine linens and bedecked with the tools of consumption and sharing. The breezes shall be laminar fine. We shall begin our repast with a thick malt beverage. Once my guest has consumed his brown elixir I'll motion him to a repast high in fiber and vitamins. With luck the fine consomme will encourage our diner to stretch out its reproductive organ. Then I'll cut if off and eat it. Yum!


I've got a million of them. I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your servers.



My guest is named Pleurotus ostreatus . It is a fine thing indeed to dive into a process and command it's various wants and hungers. Giving one self up to the demands of monitoring a life and its survival is a difficult task. It means becoming a slave to that organism. Now , granted, it pays with its life and, if I am lucky, I can get someone else to pay me for its sacrificed genitals. MMMmmmm genitals. I'm going to try to blog about the process here. That way none of my friends will think that I haven't talked to them in forever because:

1. I hate them.
2. I'm dead.
3. I really was a Russian spy all along and I've gone home to the mother country.

Below is a list of the stuff I've done so far. The guts of the clean room, hereafter referred to as "the Burrito" or simply "Burrito", is mostly assembled. It is basically a big tube of 10mil translucent plastic. The type that you get as a drop cloth at a hardware store. The tube is then folded at one end. I use a double lap seam.
What has been accomplished so far:
Frame for clean room complete.
Filtered Blower to inflate "the Burrito"
HEPA filter enclosure complete.
Table for Laminar flow hood complete.

To be done:
Burrito placement, hang and test inflation.
Door hang (double door)
Insure that Burrito is capable of positive pressure.
Place Laminar Flow work surface
Hang wire/pvc tensegrity bag racks. (design drawing to follow)
Build walls of grow area.
Test run of sterilizer. (So I don't kill myself at the very beginning of this mess.)

I should be receiving my grain spawn (yes I'm cheating for the first attempt) from the fine folks at Fungi Perfecti. I'm familiar with their strain. I ordered some plugs from them and decided to culture them with a sterile swab and agar. I did so. I promptly forgot about it. I found it three weeks later. It had eaten its way up the cotton shaft of the swab, out the top of the test tube and down to the label. Which it was happily digesting. She's a hardy bitch, this one. I'm very nervous. I know the 6 P's though. So I'm good. See all of you on the other side.

E
endtrans

"Do your own thinking" Buckminster Fuller

All the raw nerve ends. All these things that keep us from thinking out loud. How many times did you ask questions before your parents told you to shut up and stop asking questions? Open back up. Drink the water of Bucky and wake back up. Start asking questions and be awake to the realities of the world. We have an engineering problem here. A problem of scale and purpose. The planet is finite. We are we in Universe then?

Strange St. Petersburg Flashbacks

http://englishrussia.com/index.php/2010/06/29/river-excursion-in-st-petersburg/

It is strange to think that I spent a summer in that city. It was a slow blur. The city was a muggy, poorly bathed russian armpit smelling of cabbges, cream and vodka. I spent time leaning over the railings looking up the Neva. It felt fake. Like I wasn't really there. It was so alien I barely spoke to anyone. I lived with a Dutchman who smelled of bananas and was a professional organ player. My other roomie drew the short straw I suppose and had to live with the "old weird guy". There was only one person older than me and she was never in class. She was always out running around. I'm not sure she even graduated.

The group was part of a Michigan State University program. We were attending St. Petersburg University. It was in the Smolnii Sobor. The flies were so thick in the tea shop we always drank outside. My one real regret is not getting out into the country. We were only there once or twice. It was absolutely beautiful. A continual rolling plain with low hills covered with vast meadows. Most dacha's then had a good amount of room around them.

One of the guys in the group got shot at over near the grocery store. I have a feeling that our professors were a bit nervous about this little adventure. Things were starting to get wild. We went to a punk club where they were playing mostly rock-a-billy. I had a crush on a classmate. That went nowhere. We watched the world cup while the White Nights kept us awake. I smoked shitty Russian cigarettes called Baltikas; if I remember correctly. Generally tried to keep my head down and just be part of the city. I did have one or two little occurrences. I think I'll write them up next.

The Buddha used to call people Stream

Water flowing underground. Mr. Byrne speaks true. Who were we when we started this journey? The day's gone by. The Navy and suddenly there was college then suddenly there was nursing. Then suddenly I was here. Funny how the High School bit just drops off that equation. Funny that it is defined by organizations or jobs. Not people. Or loves. What are the highlights? What spikes of neuronal activity are still flickering solidly enough for me to get a handle on. Bright moments.

While learning to ride a bike I practiced with my Dad on the neighbor's driveway. Their blacktop curved down a hill and to the left. It led into a larger flat section of black top that had a basketball goal at one end. I was always terrified that I was going to smack into that thing and break my teeth out. I was always terrified of breaking my teeth out. Probably some phobia Mom programmed me for.

Making love to that Petty Officer that was down to the 50 on medical leave. I picked her up at McChord AFB home of the 62nd Airlift Wing. It wasn't my fault. She asked what I was doing that weekend. I told her I was going to see the new Superman movie. She asked which show we were going to. I picked a time out of my head that I hoped desperately would be alright. She was originally Jamaican. She was the most gorgeous deep walnut color. We were only together once. I panicked after that. She was the adult and said, "I had a great time." before she left.

Why must everything come in threes? Ok, I concede, nothing truly comes in threes. I merely notice and box the occurances due to preexisting biases.

That went nowhere. Defanged for now. Thank goodness. We might have approached continuity. Some sort of vile state where the reader begins to "understand". Which is actually a fault state of the brain. Sort of a MALLOC . Everyone rises to their level of incompetence. Which is to say, Everyone rises to their capacity to focus on one skill set to the exclusion of all others. Which is why neurosurgeons can be complete morons; and frequently are.

Page break? Not quite yet. Need some bake. There we are. Now we take. The time. To write it out. Where is the brain running at? What have we done where have we been? The Buddha used to call people Stream

Trapped like rats!

How far we've come. The Dude would be ashamed to be seen with us. We have skewed desperately close to continuity. We may have even developed a plot.

It's a mere seven days to the wedding. The bride mysteriously develops Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. She has seven days to get better. Seven days for the groom to sober up. Seven days for Thor himself to destroy the weather on their perfect day. The play lists are made. The food arranged. The kegs ordered. Bonfire pit in place. What will the gods of probability throw at them?

Not much hopefully. Here's hoping for warm clear weather. So I can see the day through with friends and family. Memories an elephant.........