of numbers and names

So now it's getting a little ridiculous. Beans and Pickles continue to grow leaving Scooter ever diminishing in comparison. And it's not cool that I am thinking of my cacti in terms of exponents and algebra. Let the growth of Scooter be x and the growth of Beans/ Pickles be x squared and the increments of development be equal to the time elapsed between blog updates on the growth of my cacti. Or something. I'm not a mathematician. Which, Ether, is why I'm here and not elsewhere. Well, that and jocose crows. Side note: I actually scored higher on my GREs in math than I did in language. Perhaps why so many English programs turned me down. Well, that and the B- undergrad GPA. Well, those and the weakness of my writing samples. Anyway. Yeah. And speaking of weak writing samples . . . BEHOLD THIS POST. Johnny's my name, Lackluster's my pain. [See track 28 on my little ditty widget below to the right for this realization in slapdash song.]

Oh yes, let me introduce you to my hyacinth--the purple butterflies seeming to flit about the top of the frames. What's that you ask? What's her name?
First of all, it's not a she it's an it. Secondly, therefore, she doesn't have a name. It doesn't, I mean. Why on earth would I name a plant? Next thing you know I'll have it talking, telling us of the vicissitudes of purplishness, the vagaries of rain and wind.

It will say . . . fine she will say . . . fine Calliope will say, "Johnny, lacklusterest of poets, ramshacklest of bloggers, listen as I whisper soft against the vines, gingerly through the cactus quills. There is a story in the veins of my leaves. A story of love purblind and purpose lost. And the cost of pennies flicked in wells for wishes ill-conceived."

But that would just be silly.

Silly and AWESOME.