Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Arizonans Are Complaining About the Heat

I come out here because everyone says it's a great trip to get away from the whining and complaining about the vagaries of the winter weather in the northern climes, and all I have been hearing is whining and complaining about the fucking weather right here in Arizona -- it's too hot, they are whimpering. Give me a fucking break -- they moved out here into the DESERT (okay, I know that the definition of "desert" is something about rainfall and not temperature, but in the popular sense of the word, you know what I mean). What did they expect? Changing seasons? Snow in April during the Indians' home opener? Isn't Death Valley pretty close to here? People actually have fake green grass in front of their homes in the desert -- what's wrong with them? Move back to the north coast of America, a place where the grass is real, where sandstorms don't exist, where brushfires don't clog up traffic, where water is plentiful. Stop whining about a little sunny, 88-degree weather in mid-March.

In any event, I have always admired the photographic extravaganzas over at the award-winning blog The Chucklehut, in which the author national-geographically brings us his world travels with awe-inspiring pictorials.

I thought I would explore the flora around Phoenix, which is very different than that in northeast Ohio, where, I expect, it will be snowing when I return.

If you look closely just to the right, behind the Weinermobile, you will see some kind of tree-y thing that is kind of spiny looking -- that's different. The other stuff you can't see real well because the Weinermobile got in the way, but the trees aren't in my part of the country.

This next one was taken in Papogo Park before climbing to the top of the big rock in the background, the one with the hole in it -- with three people stranded in the hole, whom I rescued, by the way. That scrub-y brush turns into tumbleweed, I'm guessing, in the summer months when it gets up to 116 degrees -- as I pointed out before, they moved out here into the DESERT.

This little number is called, in layman's terms, the jumping cholla. It has the usual spiky needles on it, but at the end of the ... err, branches are things that are reddish-purplish in color that look like flowers, but they are not flowers. They are skinny, tiny needles, and if you get too close, it seems that they jump out and stick in your leg or arm or the rubber cover of your iPhone. Oh yeah, I know it's upside down. Kind of turn your head -- yeah, like that. The next one is right side up. Quit your bitchin'. Did you expect me to get it right the first time?

This is a Mercury Grand Marquis -- Hertz didn't have any cars. I had to go to another car rental place, and this is all they had -- well, this or a Yugo. Fuckers. In the background are some trees I never saw in my part of the world and a young Saguaro cactus, which, for your edification, can live up to 200 years.

These Saguaro cactuses, a species found only in the Sonoran Desert (there's that word again -- fucking DESERT), are at least 75 years old. Some guy claiming to be a former lecturer at a museum said that the arms start growing after the cactuses reach the age of 75, which is 525 in dog years.

While we have this type of grass in Cleveland, it's usually covered with snow about this time and not green like the outfield grass at Goodyear Ballpark.

And we don't have older-looking Saguaro cactuses around The Jake or Progressive Field or Municipal Stadium, whatever it's called now, like they have out near Goodyear Ballpark in Goodyear.

There were prickly pear cactuses in abundance at the Lost Dutchman National Park, where DT and I went on a hike up the mountain, but were unsuccessful in finding the gold that was hidden -- and I would be pretty stupid to say that we did find it, if we did. The prickly pear is on the left side of the photo.

I'm trying to recall where I took these photos -- somewhere in Arizona, I think. The first is of a large number of a different type of cholla -- one that doesn't jump -- and the second is a close-up of one of the cholla cactus.

We stopped at another scenic area -- we could see some kind of volcanic remnant sticking up -- 6 1/2 miles away -- and the retired museum lecturer warned against picking the flowers on this plant or it's other colorful cousins because if we touched our eyes, we would be painfully blinded -- only a temporary condition ... or so he claimed.

On my trips to Starbucks at 5 in the fucking morning -- I would wake up because I was still on Eastern Time at 10 minutes to 3, 4 a.m., then I'd just get up and say "fuck it" -- I saw strange things growing from the ground. THINGS NOT OF NATURE! Alien things. There was one clump that was pure white in color.

And this one was yellow, a quite scary yellow, if you really care to know. It looks as if someone touched this -- alien plant -- and was liquefied, evidence of which liquefaction can be easily seen in the photo, even though he -- or she -- wore a latex glove.

Now, I called the Chandler Police -- what with a missing liquefied person and all, I thought it was kind of important. The dispatcher was suspicious when I explained the reason for my call. And I was courteous, I thought, not calling 9-1-1, but the regular number, even though it was an emergency, of a sort -- that missing liquefied person, you know. And she demanded to know of me, "What planet are you from?"

We were disconnected before I could answer. I'm not so sure that this is an alien problem, now that I've had a chance to think about it. It's the Government.

Posted by Bill at March 21, 2009 10:56 AM