a good explanation for why i don't bother with traditional grammar conventions, such as capital letters:

hyperbole and a half

i'm just a majestic, talon-footed eagle. get off my case!

everything you need to know about grass

before purchasing a home, grass to me was just something that was there, a green mass that exhibited a uniform consistency and occasionally needed to be lopped off to maintain appearances. i am here to tell you that none of this is true. grass is made up of thousands of feeble, needy little shards that are just dying to betray you at any moment. if you even so much as withhold one drop of water because your can was empty, or cut it a centimeter shorter than it pleases, in an instant the treacherous stuff will disregard all the times you coddled it--brushed its fine blades with your comb, massaged its root--and get back at you with such an outburst of pettiness (weed party, not the good kind) that you wonder how so many people have fallen slave to that two faced plant. then you remember that creepy guy who claims to be "Scott" of the Scott's lawn company and you know he is the reincarnation of an evil blade of Scottish grass who is hypnotizing everyone to "feed it" (the grass, that is), and now no one can stop. because i faintly heard the desperate squeals of a dying emerald soul behind the mask of a pleasing scottish accent, i am one of the few who is repulsed by his creepy requests, often heard through my car radio. yet even i was not totally immune to this bit of bewitchment, for i too fed the grass, yes, yes i did. the difference is that i fed it with some fine, crystal drops of bottled poison. did mother nature learn nothing from the gardens of versailles, the neat rows where not a twig stands out of place? she must know that with a little perseverance, man has certainly mastered nature.

dead, reclaimed by the earth

zach and i thought long and hard, with the help of this miniature pumpkin, about what could we put in our front yard in place of those wicked green clumps.

after much deliberation, we finally came to a point of mutual agreement--there would be plants galore.

and there was.

i contemplated the beauty of what we were doing, and judged it good. 

i have a feeling i haven't heard the last of Scott, but this is certainly a start. 

prayers for our pets

the worst friend of the blog is the critic. unfortunately, ballin' in dalian is no stranger to these types. if i had truly opened my ears to their cutting words, taken in the pain of their literal and figurative jabs, i would have shut down this blog long ago. yet, ballin' in dalian, with its simple ambitions, lives on; read by few but loved by many.

one minor criticism i have come across is that this blog is "too niche" and that no one knows what i'm talking about. i say minor, but if i had any real plans to do anything with this blog, i would probably say that this is actually a major problem. i feel like the english language is missing a word that means to care and not care at the same time.

however, today i have succeeded in finding a blog that is even more niche than mine. it is called Prayers for Our Pets. Between 2009 and 2013, this blogger has cranked out approximately 2,700 posts, each with a different prayer to heal Mr. Fluffers the Cat, Freckles the Dog, or whatever other pet that needs some help. i don't know who or how many people are reaching out to this blogger, but this seems like an enormous undertaking trying to save all of the world's pets.

continuing to use blogger's "next blog" feature, i came across another religious-oriented blog, whose author was thinking about some recently deceased friends, and reminds her readers that:

"Sometimes we believers forget that, just as God has plans for our life,has pre-planned our death. Neither we, nor Death, gets to choose the time, place, and means for our dying. Our death scenario was chosen with God’s purpose and our obedience in mind." 

if what this blogger is saying is true, that everything in our lives has already been mapped out, and we must all follow along like little marching ants, she better let Prayers for Our Pets know that he/she can sit back and relax--not even the strongest incantation is going to save T-Willie the Dog, or Little Bear Deformed Legs the Cat.

in short, even if no one knows what you are talking about, you still might be making the most sense out of everybody.

The Bane of Captain Peg Leg

Thirty eight days and thirty nine nights that cursed storm has raged, he thought. 

Captain Peg Leg tossed and turned in his bunk, deep in the hull of the ship and far beyond the comfort of the officer's quarters aboard the Splintered Peg. Although the grime-stained sheets soiled his fine tunics and rats scurried right under his nose, only here could Capt. Peg Leg find solace from the tempest that threatened to destroy everything he had worked so hard for. But down there in the dark all alone, it was also the only place where it was impossible for him to forget his past, and day and night, Peg Leg found himself confronting the man he once was.

He thought back to the days when he was just Peg Leg, and then he thought back as far as he could go, when he was a boy of one and his parents named him little Harry Swift. And then he went in between to the day in the schoolyard when that nasty bully Charles Tyrwhitt gave him the nickname "Two-Legged Harry".  The nickname stuck, all the way up until he became Stump-Legged Harry, and finally just Peg Leg. The gradual transformation of young Harry's legs did not go unnoticed by his tormentors, who pointed their fingers at him and laughed deep from their bellies at each stage of his misfortune.  

This story probably isn't any less strange to you than it is to poor Harry. While he had always been a tall lad, by the time he was in upper primary school his legs alone were longer than most of his classmates were tall, perplexing every doctor his parents took him to. No matter what they did--bandages, splints, tea, and so forth--his legs just wouldn't seem to stop growing. As it was very hard to crane one's neck high enough to see him, to most people, he became just a pair of lanky walking legs with fine woolen pants that his parents had custom made for him. It was really a shame, because those blessed with keen eyesight could easily tell you that Harry was becoming a handsome young man.

Just when Harry thought things couldn't get any worse, the most peculiar things started happening to him. It all started with a tingling sensation in his toes while he was sleeping one night, and when he woke up, he couldn't wiggle his toes any longer. Upon further investigation, his toes had become connected together like some web-footed duck. By eveningfall, Harry Swift no longer had any toes to speak of, and by morningcome he had no feet. Even more quickly than his legs had grown, they were being taken away from him. It was a cruel jape indeed, and Harry liked it not. 

When the Swifts realized there was nothing they could do to stop Harry's transformation, they insisted that he return to school and finish becoming a learned man. Although Harry begged and pleaded to stay home so as to avoid ridicule and scorn from his schoolmates, his parents paid no heed, and brave Harry returned to school that week, sporting nothing but stunted nubbins for legs, covered with his rolled up woolen pants. 

Oh how the children and that horrible Charles Tyrwhitt laughed, just as Harry had predicted. Echoes of "Stump-Legged Harry" followed him through the hallways as he hobbled along in misery to class. Harry had never felt so down, and even wished for his long legs back. In fact, every night for two whole weeks, Harry perched below his bedroom window and wished upon the stars for his two legs to reappear. He wished so hard that sometimes he would fall asleep and dream they were back, only to wake up when the sun rose, with his nubbins curled up beside him in full view. One morning, when his nubbins burned bright in the first light of the day, Harry decided that he was done wishing. 

Pulling out his ink pen and pad, Harry furiously began drafting sketches for what would later become his famous peg. He worked day and night measuring his nubbins until he had the perfect dimensions, and only then did he visit his father's woodsmith to craft his design. The woodsmith laughed, doubting that any man could walk on pegs, but Harry showed him a silver penny and the woodsmith did as he was bid.

No more than a week after the pegs were complete, to the astonishment of the woodsmith, Harry took his first step in his peg. That followed by a second step, and soon Harry had no trouble making jaunty strides across the shop. What joy for dear Harry! Throwing open the woodsmith's doors, Harry jumped up over the stoop and clicked his pegs together as he flew through the air. He had a feeling that things were finally going to go his way. 

Feeling that he was on to something with these pegs, Harry convinced the woodsmith to let him set up a small stand next to his hut selling pegs. Under his meticulous eye, Harry had the woodsmith replace the legs of his table and chair with eight sanded pegs, and he made a fine sign carved with "Peg Legs Unlimited" into a plank of wood with red painted letters. The woodsmith helped Harry post the sign above his table and chair, and then the waiting began. 

At first a few only a few curious passerbys came, and Harry wondered if the stand had really been a good idea after all. But the passerbys started talking and soon the word got around about his peg stand, and people with all kinds of stumps from far and wide came to get a fitted peg.  With tears streaming down, scores of customers praised Harry for saving them from a lifetime of hobbling as all of their limbless predecessors had done. Harry, never one to get swept up in himself, pushed aside his sudden fame and continued to refine his business. 

By the following year, Harry had become so wealthy that he commissioned a goldsmith to make two solid gold pegs for himself, encrusted with jewels from the far side of the world and forged with metal at the tips. The pegs took months to make, and cost Harry a small fortune, but it was worth it, and they became his most loved, valued possession. Looking down at his shiny pegs, Harry realized that he had outgrown the peg stand, and asked the woodsmith to take over his shop while he set his ambitions to the horizon and beyond. 

And this is how Harry became Capt. Peg Leg. Loading up his fine peg samples and other goods to present to exotic peoples, he took command aboard the Splintered Peg, the very ship that he now cowered in. 

It was never meant to be like this, he thought as his mind drifted back to the present. He could hear the ship's wooden beams groan with every crashing wave, threatening to swallow Capt. Peg Leg and his crew whole. What have I done to deserve this?

His ruminations were suddenly interrupted by much commotion coming from the upper deck.  Although Capt. Peg Leg was inclined to stay out of the trouble, he decided that if he could hear anything through the howling gale, it must be serious enough to require his attention. Brushing off his tunic, he reattached his pegs and made his way into the storm's furor.

Upon forcing open the deck hatch, Capt. Peg Leg was met by such a powerful onslaught of water and air that he almost slid down the ladder back to where he started. A few crew members saw his head bobbing over the hatch and pulled him up, placing his pegs on the deck as gingerly as one could given the circumstances. Shielding his eyes from the elements, Capt. Peg Leg spotted the rest of his crew huddled over the starboard aft and gesturing wildly. With the help of his men, he made his way over and planted his pegs firmly between two joists, took a look, and was much distraught by what he saw.

There in the distance, but quickly approaching, was a ship that had to have been the work of none other than the devil himself. Its wood had been painted a terrible ebony with splashes of blood red smeared on the side, and carved in his likeness on the prow and the stern was the devil's double horned head and vile pointed tail. No crew was in sight but there were gourds, disgusting GOURDS galore--yellow and orange and green with warts and stems and hooks and bumps--filling the empty spaces of the ship and pulsing with the ups and downs of the choppy waters, as if they were gasping for breath like a great beast of the sea.

Suddenly a voice called out from the abominable ship, and a man stepped out from behind the far side of the devil's head. Capt. Peg Leg squinted, and gave a quick gasp--he'd recognize that man anywhere. Stroking the devil's twisted beard was none other than than that wretched, good for nothing Charles Tyrwhitt!  

"Looking surprised are we, Captain Peggy," Charles shouted over the storm. He jumped down to the deck, kicking over an orange pumpkin. "Thought you'd seen the last of me, huh? Thought you'd slip right between my fingertips, eh?! Well I'm not done with you, and now I've come to finish up!" His devil ship inched closer and closer to the Splintered Peg, threatening to gouge its hull with the devil's ugly horn.

"What is it you want from me, you little devil?" Capt. Peg Leg called out over the ship, "Tormenting me half my life, and now this, what is the meaning of it!" 

"What is the meaning of it, you ask me?" retorted Charles, "I will tell you straight, as straight as those starched woolen pants of yours used to be! How was it that whether your legs were long or short, you never failed to have the finest trousers of all the boys at school! It wasn't fair, damn you Captain Stump! Not fair at all! I made a deal with the devil, thinking that you could never find pants that would fit if your legs were too long, and then too short, but you always managed to get them tailored just so! And to think, all I succeeded in doing was to make you more wealthy--well it all ends today!"

By this point the two ships were so close Capt. Peg Leg could have reached out and touched the bright green squash hanging over the side. But this wasn't the time to contemplate gourds, it was the time to save his innocent crew from the nonsense of Charles Tyrwhitt, and it was time to save himself as well. 

Capt. Peg Leg declared, "Charles, let us forget this foolishness. Wealthy though I may be, you have undoubtedly succeeded on other ways. For one, you have certainly caused me great hardship, for I have nubbins for legs, and as gay as it may seem to walk around on these pegs, I can tell you it has been no picnic. For two, seeing as you have made this deal with the devil, I feel compelled to placate you somehow, so as to end this curse you've put on me. I, being a wealthy man, would be more than happy to share some of that with you, so that you too may commission some fine woolen trousers for yourself." Having made his point to his satisfaction, Capt. Peg Leg waited anxiously for Charles' reply, the rain still beating down between the two men. 

Charles licked his lips and looked at Capt. Peg Leg thoughtfully. "Fine, have it your way," said Charles with a wick grin plastered across his face, "if you give me your two golden pegs, I shall bother you no more, for I will be a wealthy man then, and the envy of all!" 

Capt. Peg Leg tried to hide the surprise from his face. His crew gave a collective gasp, unsure if he would ever part with them. Capt. Peg Leg drew a deep breath, and beckoned to Charles. 

"Here then, old schoolmate of mine! Though it be heavy on me to part with them, this I will do to end our quarrel once and for all. Reach out your hand and they will be yours." 

Capt. Peg Leg drew out his nubbins from the pegs and carefully leaned himself against the railing, outstretching his arm so as to relinquish the golden peg. Charles grabbed it hastily and gave a great cackle when it was in his arms. Suddenly, quick flashes of lightning filled the sky, the devil's horn seemed to pulse in the light, and the tail gave a great twitch. 

"You've always been a numb skulled fool, haven't you Captain Bone Toe!" exclaimed Charles. "The devil and I, we have everything we need for sure now to finish all of you! Now make haste and hand over that last peg, please don't make me come over there myself, I'm afraid my burlap breeches won't suit your fancy!"

As Capt. Peg Leg reached out to give in to the devil's wishes, and Charles' fingertips had just brushed a ruby, Capt. Peg Leg swiftly brought his arm back and whacked Charles over the head with his golden peg. The force of the blow knocked Charles over the side of his ship and into the sea in one stroke, and that repugnant, despicable Charles Tyrwhitt was no more. 

In an instant the sky stopped its tantrum, the wind ran out of breath, and the sea reduced to a simmer. For the first time in thirty-eight days and thirty-nine nights, Capt. Peg Leg and his crew saw the sun. A cheer went up amongst the Splintered Peg, and they hoisted Capt. Peg Leg above their heads until they could cheer and hoist no more. But there were still other matters to take care of.

"Let us not waste good food!" proclaimed a surly sailor. 

"YES, the gourds!" cried another. 

The crew made their way to the devil ship, and feasted on the good gourds until their bellies were bursting and there was nothing left but stem and seed. When all was said and done, they burned the devil's ship so that it would haunt those waters no more. The Splintered Peg went on to finish her trip, and Capt. Peg Leg found much interest in his products abroad, filling his coffers to the brim with their treasures.  After returning home, he was called upon by the Queen to pay her a visit, and as she had been regaled with the tales of his bravery and smarts, he was anointed Sir Peg Leg. 

Never, ever one to let anything get to his head, Sir Peg Leg continued his business in earnest, and he allowed himself a constant reminder of the struggles he had been through. Sticking out from behind a crushed ruby on his golden peg was a small, rectangular piece of scratchy burlap that would never come out. 

RIP D.A.

little furlough

little furlough lies in wait
unsure what tomorrow's rising sun will bring
so many uncertainties, who can we trust
in these dire times

he's saved up for years
gone halfsies on so many meals
but is it enough?
in these dire times

there's tweed and leather
there's wool galore!
waistcoasts and breeches
and stockings fourscore!

with no work to do, there's so much time
to stay at home and shop online
but you don't have to be a mathematician to see
all spend and no wage equals no money

"no worries" he says as he clicks 'buy now'
"it's not even a problem, i'll tell you how"
then he stands up for all to see
outstretches his arms quite fearlessly
"i've got a joint card", he cried to the crowd
that look on his face, you'd know he was proud.

there's buckles and frocks
there's tricornes a plenty!
feathers and canes
and tunics, oh luxury!

wait, what's that operator?
you say the deal is over?
no no no, give me that online discount
please, you have to understand, it's my savings account!!

when all's said and done
little furlough got what he wanted
when he walks down the street
there's not a head left unturned.
but his pennies are wasted
partisan gridlock's got no end in site
he'll be cursing his fancy tastes
within a fortnight