Yawn...

Yes, I'm a little quiet this week. It's hot. Not much breeze (except in the evening, thank God). I have a bunch of little tiny fires to put out, plus some restoration to do, when I would rather be lazing away the afternoon in the hammock outside. (The same hammock Husband slept in while we were on the riverboat in Brazil.)

Take a look at Daniel Suelo, the man who lives without money. He dumpster dives, forages wild foods and isn't averse to scavenging up roadkill now and then, either. He lives in a cave in Utah, near a coldwater pool for swimming. (That part sounds especially nice right now.) The journalist also pointed out, when touring the cave, "Daniel Suelo has lived here three years, and it smells like it." (No soap for the cave man.)

More on Daniel here and here.

Maybe this old post on eating on a Really Tiny income would help Daniel. Nope, you're wrong -- I know what you're thinking. He doesn't have a computer...how could he read it! Actually, he does access the internet, via his local library. Even has a blog! (Oops, I take it back...that was his statement of belief, I guess -- don't know what else to call it. His real blog is here.)

Also, did you hear that the huge earthquake near Australia actually moved New Zealand 12" closer to the big A? In just seconds, a land mass is now in a different place than it was. Amazing.

More interesting "Animals in the News" photos...

And Henry Gates Jr. is still demanding an apology from the white cop who arrested him for disorderly conduct. I admire Gates' work very much, including his wonderful documentaries that use DNA and research to tell more about famous black people's origins. It seems logical, though, that there's more to this story than Gates would like to admit. He refused to show his I.D. at first. He persisted in yelling at the cop, even when the officer was leaving. He admits that his neighbor may have done the right thing when she called police after noticing what she thought were two men breaking into a house. (They were -- Gates either forgot his keys, or couldn't get the lock to work on the house he was renting from Harvard.)
So why is he still insisting that the whole incident comes from black typecasting? A little politeness and explanation would have gone a long way here.

Then finally, the author of Angela's Ashes died last week: Frank McCourt. In the long tradition of fine authors, he could be a bit of a pig...but his writing, oh my. He didn't write his first book until he was in his 60s...but what a book. The others -- 'Tis and Teacher Man -- were pretty good, too, especially when McCourt wasn't bragging. (The sex machine stuff gets pretty old, after a while.) Too bad we won't have another classic from himself, though.

Stay cool. I mean it.