For years, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with dandelions. Admittedly, it was light on love.
OK, fine. A hate/hate relationship. Whatevs.
I don’t want to be dramatic and say dandelions were the bane of my existence, but then again, subtlety has never been my strong suit. Let’s just say I devoted a lot of time to pulling them out of the ground, only to watch them reappear, often in the very same holes from which they had been dug mere hours earlier. It’s as though they were taunting me with their invincibility. If human limbs regenerated as quickly as dandelion tap roots, we could singlehandedly put every prosthetic manufacturer out of business. That’s a good thing. Have you priced artificial limbs lately? They cost an arm and a leg!
Last year, I declared I would let them grow willy-nilly. My resolve crumbled half a day later, when it became apparent our yard would be the only one on the block with dandelions growing wild. Tara didn’t want to be those people.
What can I say? Keeping up with the Joneses is hard work! Besides, the WordPress community mostly shared my sentiment, according to a poll on my blog.
Granted, the anti-dandelion contingent didn’t win in a landslide, but it was enough to satisfy me. I stuck to my guns and continued ridding them from my yard.
But this year, I’ve adopted a new mantra: peace, love, and dandelions. Screw the Joneses and their perfectly manicured weed-free yards! I’m letting my dandelions grow as they please. The beneficial insects and pollinators will thank me. So too will my soil, all nutrient-rich and aerated thanks to these guys. My lower back is happiest of all: no more stooping over to yank living things out of the ground.
Will we raise the ire of our neighbors? Perhaps. Do I give a damn? Nope. If they complain, I’ll just say, when life hands you dandelions, make dandelion wine.
Speaking of, anyone have a recipe?
Is it just me, or is the news getting weirder these days?
Yesterday, a man from Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, celebrated 50 years of eating Big Macs. I don’t mean he’s been stopping by the Golden Arches a few times a year for half a century; ain’t nothin’ special ’bout that. Don Gorske has been eating Big Macs every single day for 50 years. As of last December, that translates to 32,672 Big Macs over the course of a lifetime—enough to earn him an entry in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Holy cow! Or holy 14 cows, to be precise. The average cow yields 730 lbs., or 11,680 ounces, of beef. Each Big Mac contains two 1.6-ounce patties, which means you’ll get 2,336 Big Macs out of Bessie. So, if you divide 32,672 by 2,336, you’ll find that Don has singlehandedly consumed 13.986 cows since embarking upon this quest on May 17, 1972. The most amazing thing about this? The fact that I figured out the math myself! Let’s just say I’ve always been a word guy. Numbers are hard.
But also, I guess we can applaud his McCommitment? Or marvel over his iron McStomach, and the fact that he hasn’t dropped dead yet. Morgan Spurlock couldn’t go 30 days without experiencing serious health consequences stemming from a monthlong McDiet. Speaking of, Don Gorske appeared in Super Size Me. Probably walked off the set calling Morgan a McWuss.
This wasn’t the only odd article to catch my attention in recent days. Vandals shot up a water tower in Kingsland, Arkansas, last week. Nothing unusual about that: guns and the Deep South go together like two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, and onions on a sesame seed bun. Just ask Don Gorske! The weird part was, this water tower featured a mural of the Man in Black himself, Johnny Cash. And the gun-toting hooligan’s aim was uncanny.
Talk about walking the line. That just burns, burns, burns. Poor ol’ Johnny would be pretty pissed if he’d been around to witness this news leak. If you think shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die is harsh, imagine what JC would do to the fella that decided to “stream” his music without consent.
Urine a lot of trouble, pal.