Shelby Park Ecology/Botanical Report [Aug. 19th, 2025]

Alright y’all. You are in for a treat.

I busted out the old cameraroo for this one.

First of all, before we dive into this, I have to say — I had just written about my Japanese suit, and how proud I was that it was not made with synthetic materials, and oh my god. Are you ready for the great irony? How is life so perfect, like this?

I came home from this lengthy Shelby Park reconaissance, field-reporting photography mission, drenched in sweat. I had worn those wool pants to the part, belt and Dr. Martins. Those nice suit pants, although I wasn’t so stupid or insane to wear the jacket. Yes, in the sweltering, midday heat in the middle of August, I wore my nice suit pants to the park, for a photography mission. The park was as dead as it could ever be. I saw about ten humans in the two hour span that I was there, record lows. Most people were not willing to suffer that heat. Only the die-hards were out.

It was extremely gorgeous–ah, but I have to tell you the great irony. I came home then, eager to strip it all off, and now I felt like I had really earned the right to take off my suit, and I threw the pants down on the bed, when I noticed something. Sticking out of the back pocket was a white piece of paper.

I wondered if I put something that pocket, but it was just the tag of the pants. As I then had it in my hands, I thought I may as well read what was written on it, and see those wonderful words, 日本製, 毛, 100% (100% wool). I saw those words, yes, but then I also spied some words, directly below that. Some horrifying words.

Yes people. I kid you not.

ポリエスタ.

Polyester.

I’m telling you, the irony is unreal.

The 表地 (omoteji) of the pants were 100% wool, yes. But the 裏地 (uraji)? The lining?

100% polyester.

Unbelievable.

And shameful.

I have been going to Shelby Park frequently, as usual. Shelby Park is an incredible, wonderful resource for us East Nashvillians. And I have been studying it, and I have been studying the plants, more and more of late. Especially the wildflowers and the meadow. I have wanted to do some photography of it and write a bit about things for you, and I needed something to do today, and so I decided to just go for it. It turned into something of a tour and study of Shelby Park, a Shelby Park report, along with some new botanical discoveries… I’m just going to write it all up for you. I really enjoyed having the camera again, and doing photography. I realize that I miss that, but it also is a whole ordeal. It’s a serious undertaking, a photography trip. I decided in advance that I was not going to adjust or alter any of the photos at all, and would simply try and get the camera settings as correct as possible, get the framing right, and use whatever was usable. There are still some decently artistic shots in here. That was to save myself time, because the photo editing can take a really long time.

Let’s begin. The very reason I wanted to go to the park was to photograph this plant, which is now the main bloomer in the park. It’s Vernonia fasciculata, called prairie ironweed, a native wildflower. Ironweed has kept growing, and they are the tallest wildflowers at Shelby, and they are everywhere.

The really interesting thing here, and that I’ve learned studying the wildflowers, is that they stagger their blooming periods. The meadow at Shelby Park was completely covered in Common Milkweed’s blooming. They had their heyday, for about a month or two, and it has now totally passed. Not a single Common Milkweed blooms anymore. Now, in the middle of August, it’s the time of ironweed. The ironweed is reigning supreme. It was interesting to see it first popping up, little tufts of dark purple here and there, whereas now it’s literally everywhere. The deep purple is a really enchanting color. I imagine if I was a bee or butterfly I would be like, I need that right now.

This is what the Common Milkweeds are looking like, now. No more blooms, big seed pods. Pretty awesome seed pods.

The other flower that’s really booming right now, in full bloom and everywhere, are the Coreopsis, called Tickseed. Apparently the name comes from the fact that the seeds look like ticks. I like that name, Tickseed. Coreopsis is a nice name too. The Coreopsis is booming. It’s a favorite of mine, right now.

Mingled with the Coreopsis was this flower. You didn’t see nearly as much of this one, but it was there. Not sure what it is.

The Coreopsis was really dominating an area on the edge of the park, that seems to be newly converted to wildflower grassland. This was underneath the train tracks. It’s interesting that you did not see as much ironweed over here, and the ironweed seemed to stick more to the edges. The Coreopsis really seems to show up en masse. There was a large patch of Coreopsis in the interior, huge meadow of the park, but otherwise it wasn’t represented so much there.

Amongst the Coreopsis field was this relic. A coneflower, either Black-eyed Susan or Purple Coneflower. After a long run their time seems to have come and gone. My neighbor’s have all about died away now too. They are a perennial though, so I think it’s just this part of the plant that dies. The roots are still alive and this plant will grow back next year.

This flower right here was looking a little different. And now I’ve done just some investigations, and it seems we have a bit of a problem. Narrow-leaved sunflower (Helianthus angustifolius) and Coreopsis (of which there are many kinds) look a lot alike. And now I wonder which is which, and I realize that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Well, can any plant experts tell us? Do we have both in these photos? Just one or the other?

(Well, a few days later I went to a gardening event at the park, and the gardener and naturalist Hazel told me that most of this stuff is Coreopsis. I was starting to be convinced it was not. Not sure if any of this is the sunflower. They do look a lot alike.)

The artsy fartsy shots I took today would have to be these shots of the train tracks and trellises. I was extremely lucky and had a train drive over me during my flower photographing. 2000 tons of steel and iron flying at 50 miles an hour right over my head. How incredible.

I have wanted to photograph these trellises for a long time, now.

*This is something I would try making black and white (possibly tinted), IF I were editing (I’m not)*

I got so lucky with that train.

Continuing on our tour of the park… These areas of wildflower growth at the borders are here because they aren’t being mowed anymore. I wonder if they have just been allowed to grow freely, or if they were seeded. I feel like they had to have been seeded because otherwise you would get a lot of unwanted things. I don’t think if you just stop mowing your yard it fills with Tennessean native plants. I’ll have to ask about that.

Now I’ll do a few miscellaneous photos here and show you some of the sights.

Had to take some photos of the cars. Cars are just asking to be photographed. It’s like they’re posing all the time.

*Something in the planter here. Cute flowers. What is it?*

Shelby Park has recently create a Nature Play area. It has been very successful and gets a lot of use. It’s a great idea. There’s a section out in the open, and then there’s a section that’s in the woods, where the kids can walk on logs and go down a slide and be in the trees.

*Nature play, Nature Center in the background*

The above photo is the Shelby Park Nature Center building. As you can see, it’s totally awesome. The roof is covered with plants, which helps keep the building cool and also adds some greenery to the world. It’s cool to see that, and I wonder how difficult it is to create and maintain such a roof. I would love to have a roof like this.

The building is on stilts because it’s by the river, and the river floods. There’s a sign that says the highest the water’s ever gotten, at least since that building was up, and it was in 2010 or something. It went all the way up to the top of those posts. I had wondered why this building was on stilts until I saw that sign. Then it made sense.

Now I’m just going to show you a series of botanical photos of interest. There some interesting flowers and grasses, and again I saw the nemesis, Chinese privet.

*Gray’s (Morning Star) Sedge* — *Carex grayii*

This is a grass I’ve been seeing. I had it in my yard, when I let the grass grow. Easy to recognize when it has those iconic seed pods. The name is fitting, Morning Star. It is a Tennesee native, which is good to know because it’s cool and awesome.

*Northern sea oats — Chasmanthium latifolium*

This grass was also standing out because of the interesting seeds. I literally just Googled “grass with flat seeds” and it was the first thing that came up. Seems to be quite common and easily recognizable. Those seeds are interesting because they are totally flat, like wafers.

Here’s the privet, it took awhile to find any. We have been doing a good job of removing it, but I knew I was going to see it eventually. It’s easy to spot when you know what to look for, there’s nothing else that really looks like it. It also stays green when everything else has lost its leaves, and then you can see just how much there is of it. Privet grows in Tennessee insanely well, unfortunately. Non-native.

*Saw a little bit of this small purple flower. Lavender?*

*Small and unassuming flowering plant with dainty flowers*

It’s funny that I am becoming a plant person after a long time of not knowing anything about plants. I think part of the deal with botany is that it’s intimidating. There are just so many plants. So many. And most of the time, they’re all green. What’s this? What’s that? It’s a flower. It’s grass. It’s a tree. But, when you see the same things over and over, you can start to recognize what’s what. Then, things stand out to you, you notice the same flower, and you start to wonder, what is this thing? I see it everywhere.

I think that’s really how it’s happening for me. I walk through this park so many times, I start to wonder what things are. It’s also interesting to see the cycles of growth, the plants that come and go, the flowers that come and go, throughout the year. It’s more obvious to see this when you have a meadow. The native meadow plants provide a lot of action in the summer and fall. We think of spring as being the time where everything blooms, but there are things blooming all year long, some things even blooming in winter. You could actually know what time of the season it was by what was blooming, if you didn’t have a calendar. You also could tell by the weather, I’m sure. And the position of the moon and the night sky, right?

Something I’ve started to notice a lot is the growth of trees in the meadows. Apparently a meadow is the early stage of the development of a forest. First, you have meadow, then you have an interim stage, with small trees, and then eventually you have a full, mature forest. I think this is called succession.

It’s interesting that annuals come before perennials. I think perennials take more time to get established, that’s my guess as to why that is. You can see succession happening in real time at Shelby Park. I’ll show you some photos of trees popping up in the meadow, that are leading the charge into the further stages of succession at Shelby.

Succession is why they say you are supposed to mow your meadow, I think, if you want it to stay a meadow. You have to remove the trees, otherwise you will not have a meadow anymore. I wonder what they will do at Shelby, possibly this fall or winter, if they want to keep the meadow a meadow, or if they will just allow it to convert. The reason they might want to do that is because meadows/praries are rarer now, and also they might want to keep it for the variety. (I’m not sure if our field is considered a prarie or a meadow, I just realized. Maybe it’s neither.)

Below are some photos of trees popping up amongst the wildflowers.

*This tree is a standalone. I wonder how it got here, if they let this one get established.*

*A maple? getting established. I wonder how old it is. Just this season?*

The above photo is a bench in a cleared pathway in the meadow. How pleasant! Probably no on sitting there for most of the day these days, as it is extremely hot. In the background you can see the large oak, standing alone in the meadow.

*What the ground is looking like these days*

On either side of the meadow there are some marshy, wet areas. They are dry as a bone right now. I wondered if the pond would have been totally dried up yet. Beavers, deer, and herons are usually hanging around here.

There were some patches of the meadow where I was seeing a ton of this plant. Anybody know what it is? Trees? Shrub or bush? Don’t know, but there was a lot of it, dominating its area.

I’ve been spotting the plant below recently as well. It’s just starting to bloom. Very pretty, kind of a standout. My mind is going to “thistle”.

Internet says this is Cirsium altissimum, a Tall Thistle. Native to eastern and central United States. That’s good.

*Butterfly enjoying the giant thistle landing pad*

*Tall thistle now starting to make a debut*

There are many flowers blooming right now, Zinnias, some sunflowers still left, dogwoods (if that’s what they are)… lots of trees are in bloom right now, and the wildflowers. Lots of food for the pollinators. So, we are now seeing butterflies everywhere.

*Narrow-waisted wasp on some tiny flowers*

The below photo, the grass, was standing out. I snapped a quick pic. I wish I would have taken some more photos but this was in the meadow, at this point I was really getting cooked, and flowers are still more interesting for me than grasses.

Sorry grasses. I’m sure I will have a grasses era someday.

There’s an interesting bat box out in the meadow, only one of them. I assume it is a bat-box.

Well folks, this is about everything I’ve got for you here. But there was ONE more thing, and it was actually the most incredible thing I saw on this field trip. It was the only thing I really have no explanation for. As I walked through the shaded, covered tunnel trail on my way to the meadow, I happened across a large, black spot on the path. I looked down, wondering what it was, and saw that it was absolutely teeming with wriggling things. Some of you who are squeamish may not want to look at the following photo. Luckily it is relatively low quality, as my camera was struggling in the dark, and with the difficult subject matter.

*Mystery mass — extremely ecologically interesting*

This mass is extremely interesting. I squatted down and looked at it, poked at it (with a stick of course) for as long as I could handle, because it made me incredibly sweaty and the mosquitoes were immediately descending on me. I have to tell you that I still have no idea what this really was or is. It looked like dirt, but how did it get there? And if it was poop — what kind of poop is that? How did it get so flattened out? And what about the creatures inside?

I thought they might have been parasites, but looking at them now, and thinking about how they were moving, they seem like they could be black soldier fly larvae. We have those in our compost pile, they look and move similarly. If they are, that means they would have to had hatched in this pile, so it must have been here for awhile… If it is dung… Do the eggs hatch that quickly? And what kind of dung is this? Were the larvae worms keeping it moist?

I’m open to theories. If anybody knows please tell us all. I’m still thinking about it.

Moonflower and Hornworms

I’m gonna try writing. It’s what I do. Even though I feel like crap.

I volunteered for a gardening event at Shelby Park today. I didn’t feel like doing it at all. I didn’t feel like doing anything at all, but as it goes with these things, you warm up to them, and then you’re glad that you did do them. Sometimes you just have to get in the groove. It was actually great that I had this to do today.

The crew was a surprisingly large and cheerful one. There was a naturalist woman named Emily that I have remembered, as she was about to start the TN naturalist program, and I talked to her about that, which she said was amazing. She had the true nature-lover and naturalist spirit, and she was interested in all of the things in the garden and the bugs.

Our host Hazel was a naturalist and knew everything in the garden and knew about all of the bugs, too. She was awesome.

There was another woman who was something of a comedian. She was awesome, and she knew about the things in the garden too. She was especially fond of passionflower and was really wanting to raise some. At one point, she was lovingly touching a strand of passionflower and speaking to it, telling it that it was so beautiful. She was cracking me up.

She told us that passionflower is colloquially known as “Maypop”. She ventured to say that it could be because it blooms in May, or has something to do with the flowers making a popping sound when they open (and unless it blooms multiple times a year, which I know plants do, they were just blooming now, so not sure if May blooms as well)… she said that she didn’t really know the lore, and that we would have to find a “real person” to ask. That became something of a running joke, as I immediately used it to riff off of, saying, “Yes, hello, I’m looking for a real person, yes, does anybody know someone who’s real, I really need to know the lore of the Maypop flowers!”

The garden at Shelby isn’t a big one, but it has some interesting stuff in it, and today I saw that it actually had way more going on than I even thought. But the one thing in that garden that I’ve seen and wanted to know about, today was my chance to ask about it, and I took my opportunity. There was a large, sprawling, low-to-the-ground bush, that is a subtle shade of blue, and although it doesn’t have visually striking flowers, and the flowers don’t even really look like flowers at all, the pollinators go crazy for it. As in, I’ve seen like 500 bugs on this bush at a time. They are literally swarming this baby. I’ve been wanting to know what this thing is for weeks now, and so I asked our host, Hazel, what it was, and she told me— Mountain Mint. A Tennessee native. Mountain Mint, how awesome.

She then said that it grows like crazy, and that she would give me some if I wanted it. And she did. She cut off a section, as all you really have to do with these kinds of plants is dig up a chunk, and she put it in a bucket and gave it to me. She gave some to another young guy too, who was very excited to have something to plant. This guy was entertaining me, because he had a real bro energy, and you could tell he was pretty much a novice, but he was really curious and enthusiastic. You love to see it. And him and I scored, majorly, with that Mountain Mint.

I was talking with the comedian lady about how I was learning that all you had to do was ask gardeners about their plants, and they would just give it to you. That they liked to give things to each other. I told her the story of when I was at Bates nursery just the other day, and had asked about the passionflower (maypop) and the worker had gone and grabbed me some seed pods and gave them to me. The comedian lady said, “Yeah, gardeners are real people.” And she said that there’s something in the soil, there’s a chemical in the soil that’s released when you’re gardening that just makes you cool. I thought that was funny.

It’s a very wholesome activity. It almost feels wrong how wholesome it is.

I felt that way with the master gardeners. They were two of the most wholesome people doing the most wholesome things that I had ever seen. I was really overwhelmed by the wholesomeness. Today, I felt like I was too dirty and unworthy, almost. Or that something is wrong with me, to be seeking out and participating in such wholesomeness.

The polar opposite of debauchery.

I took on the role of weeding, now being familiar with what is crabgrass and other grasses that we don’t need in our garden. Being able to identify what’s what is a skill. I could have gone with the strongmen to do mulch work, but as the one guy said, he wanted to do mulch work because he was afraid of pulling anything good out of the garden. And, I’ve done enough digging in my yard. I was not interested in lugging around giant wheelbarrows of mulch.

Pulling away at the grass, down in the ground, it was about twenty minutes, we had been working around this unique plant that Hazel told us was called Moonflower, when I suddenly spied an enormous green caterpillar. Enormous as in, like seven inches long. And fat. I commented on this to whoever was nearby, and they were very excited, it might have been Hazel. Well, there several more of these fatties, striking fat green caterpillars, and she said that she thought they were Hornworms. They had a spike on their butts, so that would make sense. They were going to town on the Moonflower, if that’s what it was.

I looked it up because it was such a cool plant, but I can’t tell if what I looked up as Moonflower was that plant or not. Hazel knew what she was talking about so I’m inclined to say it was. But anyway, as you can imagine, the hornworms were wildly popular. As you would expect for some marked, fat green caterpillars. I was proud that I had spotted them, I wonder if anyone would have. It took me twenty minutes of working around down in that area before I even saw them, and they had been right in front of my face that whole time. It just goes to show you the power of camouflage. They were the exact same dark green as the Moonflower they were on, and they were adhered to the stalks, so they didn’t stick out in any way. You had to look directly at them, not just a passing, sweeping glance with your eyes. I saw one that way, just taking a good hard look at the Moonflower, because it was cool.

You can see immediately that these guys are awesome.

The curious bro said, “But aren’t they bad? Aren’t they like pests or something?”

Hazel said, “They do what caterpillars do. If you’re attached to your plants, then yeah, they’re bad.”

They were chowing down on that Moonflower, but she didn’t mind.

There was a pretty girl here at the gardening event, I have to tell you. And she seemed to be interested in me.

She caught my eye immediately, and she was at my side as I walked around the room, examining the displays and curiosities. I had been looking for the snake in the snake tank, and I couldn’t find it. She was still next to me, and I said, “Where’s the snake?” And she said, “Right there,” and pointed it out. It was a cute and small snake, hiding under the rock water bowl. I said it was cute, and she agreed.

Then when we out in the garden, Hazel was giving us the rundown for what we were supposed to be doing, and I had hung back, the rest of the group funneling into the vegetable patch. This was now my chance to give this girl a good look, because I wanted to see if she really was pretty, and I saw her face clearly, and she was— and then she immediately noticed me and look back at me. I was caught, and I glanced away, but she didn’t seem to mind that. After Hazel was done speaking, she came over to join me in weeding the main garden bed.

It was me and her down there, ripping out that grass, and I wanted to talk to her, so I struck up a conversation. I asked her about gardening, about what we were doing… We talked for a little bit. She smiled me, and I saw again that she had a pretty smile. I couldn’t get much more out of her though, and then I after ten minutes of vigorous tearing, I started to get bored with that particular patch, and there was action going on around the garden (people making discoveries, CD Paddock showed up, I had to ask about the mountain mint…).

I had come back to my post, then meandered more, made jokes and etc., and this girl did laugh at some of the things I said. She didn’t really engage with anybody else there, that I saw. She was quiet. And I didn’t try to talk to her much more, although I did make some comments, such as that we had moved on to the tougher to pull grass, and I said, “Now this is harder work,” as I had commented before on how easy it was to pull out the grass in the mulch. She laughed, but no reply.

So, I was talking with the comedian woman, we were the last ones left, having gotten our mountain mint, Hazel was still in the garden doing work, and we walked up the steps and back through the nature center, and I saw that this girl was still in the center, the only one left, buying something. I walked through, said goodbye to the lady at the desk, the comedian woman had stayed behind, and I was walking back to the parking lot, when the pretty girl called out to me from behind, “What are you taking home?”

I thought it was interesting that she was still hanging around, and I thought it was now very interesting that she was talking to me. I had a feeling that she would.

I told her, mountain mint. And I said that I had been curious about it, and asked about it and Hazel had just given it to me. The girl did not have much to say about it, I don’t know if I ever heard her response. It would have just been, “Oh,” or “That’s cool,” I guess. And then, I was just thinking, what does this girl want from me? Are we having a moment here? And I was thinking what to say next, and I was about to say, “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” When she said, “Well, have a good day.” And I said, “You too.”

I have to tell you, I’ve been thinking this one over. I’m not an egomaniac and am not assuming that every girl is interested in me, but there were cues. And especially at the end, she could have just let me walk away. I just couldn’t really get anything out of this girl. I didn’t know what to do with her! And then, as it goes, she’s gone. I’m sure I’ll never see her again.

I was thinking about it, because especially after her talking to me at the end, and then rather abruptly walking off, I was wondering about her. Was she just a quiet type? Was she nervous?

Mysterious.

What I was thinking about, during the gardening and as I write this, is the depth of subtlety of human connection. The subtle forces at play between people when they communicate, when they interact. Especially romantically. There all of these cues, currents and mechanics that are going on under the surface, with eyes and smells, body language, voice. So few words even spoken to one another, yet so much is communicated.

I also thought about how they say the way to make friends, and probably lovers too, is to see people repeatedly. These things take time. It can take awhile before you really know what someone is about, such as with this girl. What’s her story? I would like to know.

She was interested in planting natives in her garden.

That’s a good thing.

Mountain Mint (an unassuming pollinator powerhouse)

No Thrill

There is some suffering happening today.

Like a real professional, I’m doing my work anyway.

A “professional”. I haven’t made a single dollar off of anything I’ve written.

That’s okay. Until I do make a dollar, what would I be? An enthusiast? A writing enthusiast. That’s fine with me. I would write either way.

I suppose I have been paid to write social media posts. That was when I worked for Japan Foundation. So I HAVE been paid to write. I also wrote the newsletters, albeit there was a high level of copying and pasting. Using already written copy. But I was PAID to do that.

I never thought about it that way.

I laid in bed last night thinking. Why was I thinking, when I should have been sleeping? I had forced myself to the climbing gym last night, forced myself to move and do something with my evening, as opposed to just around and feel lethargic and crummy. After this morning in particular, waking up with puffy, inflamed eyes, a sore back, I feel as if I’ve been cursed or acquired some kind of mysterious illness. Like a parasite, or some insidious flu. Today is really a rough one, already. And I have so, so much digging to do.

This is where writing has an advantage, and creative work in general, even. Writing is physically low effort. As long as you can sit, but thanks to the great modern computer, you don’t even have to be able to sit. You can lay down. You can write a Magnum Opus from your bed. I suppose if you had to do it by hand, you could prop yourself up on pillows. That could work. But typing is still even easier than writing by hand. Not much of a difference, but it is.

Now, would you write your Magnum Opus from your bed? That’s the real question. Are the conditions of laying in your bed suitable enough for you to write your Magnum Opus? It’s possible.

I am glad to not be wearing a suit today. I thought about it, this morning. I had a vision of me wearing the suit every day this week, or possibly wearing it every day until I had achieved some new writing goal or anything like that. But, I felt like crap (still do) and I threw the suit on, and I thought, I just look way too nice for how I feel. It just didn’t make sense. I didn’t want to be wearing it, and I didn’t want to be wearing it at Ugly Mugs. I knew exactly what I wanted to be wearing, and it wasn’t my fancy Japanese suit.

It was the classic, sneakers, jeans, and t-shirt. I even threw the hat on. What a classic look, that is.

Now, very interestingly, because of my suffering today, I have yet to take a sip of coffee. It’s 10:42 am. This is quite outrageous. And yet, I’m not even thinking about coffee. For some reason I wasn’t keen to chug it this morning, perhaps because I’m tired of boosting myself artificially, when my body might be telling me it needs rest. And now I’m here at the cafe, I seem to be doing alright enough. At least, I can write this. And I haven’t taken a sip. I just noticed my full cup, jiggling as I press on the keys, the surface of the coffee wobbling and bouncing.

I want to share some of my real thoughts with y’all, because you have been following my posts diligently.

I laid in bed last night (I think I just went on an extraordinary tangent), and once again, when I was supposed to be sleeping, and thought I was absolutely, certainly ready for bed — I was awake for three more hours. And I thought and thought and thought, and was tapping into something that’s been in my mind in the last week or so.

I am in an interesting place in my journey, here.

As you know, I am doing a lot of writing. That’s exactly what I want to be doing. I’m very glad that I am, and I have so much more to write. I have an incredible amount that I need to write. One thought I had last night, is that I’m spending a lot of time blogging, writing these posts, and potentially at the expense of writing the things that I want to write. But, I enjoy writing these blog posts. I don’t necessarily want to stop that. I don’t want to really force myself into doing anything. But I am creating a lot of work for myself.

For example, I am supposed to review my Kumamoto Days Japan-memoir whatever one more time, and then try and find someone who wants to publish it. That’s in my mind, that’s something I’m supposed to do. Then, I started writing that Bob Schmingus again, and for a long time that story has sat in my head, and I’ve wanted to write it. I just started it up again, and I felt like I should write the entire thing, stay on it, and that will be my next big project. That is, while I am also supposed to be reviewing Lucy and The Mingmerang (and I did crack into that again and got 20 pages in). And on top of this all, what I thought was going to be my first act after writing the Mingmerang story would be that I would finish a story that I have halfway written, that I really like, and I think really needs to be finished immediately, and I want to do it. So why don’t I? It feels monumental.

That’s what I thought I would get up to. And now?

Last night, I laid in bed and I thought about something that has been bothering me.

I’ll share this with you.

By all accounts, I have been a very good boy.

No binging, no frivolous purchases, no hedonism, time-wasting, wastefulness. No vice, at all. I have not had a slip up or a debauchery in the longest period of my adult life, ever.

I’m sober. I’m clean. I’m healthy. I’m working out, I’m eating right, running, climbing, I’m writing, I’m volunteering, and for Christ’s sake, I’m gardening! No artificial light, cold showers, no waste, studying Japanese, being friendly with the neighbors, taking it upon myself to pick up trash in the neighborhood… I mean, Jesus Christ. I’m gardening.

This is all very good. I know it is. And yet, something is getting to me.

I have visions of glory in Overwatch. I think about the most thrilling times of life. I think about going out and getting into debauchery. I think about drinking bottles of wine. Of going to shows. Of sake and Pernod. Of all of my wild nights and my gaming binges and my moments of glory. They keep coming back to me, and I think, why am I thinking about these things? I don’t even want to do them.

I really don’t. Because they will derail me, and I know it. They will cost me money, they will cost me time and energy. I am dedicated, I’ve got a good thing going here. And I’m healthy, and many of those things that I have just described are not healthy, and have not been healthy.

But god dammit. They have been fun.

What I realized then, looking at the great span of my life, thinking about all of these adventures and wild nights and times, and I look at my life now, and I realize — there is no thrill.

I am truly lacking a thrill.

I’ve got no thrill, nothing at all.

I’ve pruned, preened, and purged all thrill from my life. It’s sterile. It’s bland. And it’s corroding my soul, in some way.

It’s eating away at me. It’s filling up a void that’s expanding in me.

I realized last night, I laid in bed, and I realized that the most thrilling thing that’s happened to me in a long time was parking in the wrong parking garage and having to negotiate that with the hotel staff.

Guys. That’s it.

That’s BAD.

I went to Cheekwood. That was alright. I went and swam on the trash beach. Fine. I tried stand-up comedy. Meh. I’ve done some busking. Not bad. I waitered at a fancy cocktail bar. That was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me prior to my parking garage adventure, and that was a LONG time ago now. You know that was exciting for me, because I wrote an entertaining post about it.

The problem is that, I don’t think what’s going on with me is necessarily bad. I think it is important, actually. It could be the most important thing in my life yet, in my maturation as a healthy human being. Because, while I am not having many thrills, I am writing. I wrote a novelette that I am really proud of. I have worked hard on my stupid memoir that I’m still sitting on. I read Harry Potter. I’ve thought a lot about the craft of writing. I know about Fun and Fancy poetry now, etc. etc.

By that metric, things have been going well.

Well, I really, really want to solve my problem. How can I get a thrill without doing something that is classically problematic for me? How can I get a thrill without doing damage?

One way is sports. Competitive sports are thrilling. Climbing is not that thrilling. Climbing is satisfying, and mentally engaging, but not thrilling. Scoring a goal is thrilling. Sliding tackling someone who is about to score a goal is thrilling. A rigorous bout of tennis is thrilling. Running is not thrilling. So maybe I need to play some soccer, again. My problem with that is my leg. I have a leg injury.

I think about combat sports. I’ve wanted to do kickboxing. Well, my leg.

What else can I do?

Perhaps that’s what I was trying to solve with having a band and rocking. But I just haven’t managed to break through on that. I don’t have a band and have no one to rock with. So do I need to try harder on that? How do I try harder? I already went out and met people, I put up posters. Well, try again. God dammit, I’m frustrated with that.

Go camping? Jesus Christ, I don’t know.

Well, last night, after running into this wall again, my mind turned back to Thailand.

I started the writing the entire story in my mind. I started running through it all again, the most thrilling and fun period of my life ever. And simply feasting on those memories once again brought me incredible joy.

I wondered if that was the sign, that now is the time for me to write about Thailand.

I made a pact with myself, that I would not leave the country again, I would not take another trip until I had written it. And I know why I had made that pact — because if I die and don’t write these stories, what a shame. What an absolute shame! What a waste! They have to be written. And perhaps, this what I am now called to do.

In suffering and starving myself of a thrill, I am forced to create to alleviate the pain. To bring myself some entertainment and stimulation. I realize that sounds masochistic, and recently, like, NOW, I wonder if it is. But I genuinely enjoy writing, and I can also tell you this — I would rather have a period of suffering that leaves me (and everyone who enjoys them) with some art to enjoy, rather than have a hedonistic period of thrill that leaves no one with anything lasting. If I can keep going this way, I will. When I was in Osaka, I binged on League. I disappeared into a void for a week. I went out and partied, stayed out all night, met all kinds of characters… I didn’t do any writing, at all. The whole time I felt like I should have been writing those stories. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t in that place. And yet, even then, I was making stories, and stories can be written about…

Well, that’s why I have to write about Thailand, then. At this point, I have the stories. I’m not allowed to make any more. I have to write the ones I’ve got, first.

I understand.

I’m going to write about Thailand.

Wearing A Suit

What is the power of wearing a suit?

What is the power in looking extraordinarily dapper?

Why do the chieftans put feathers in their headdress? The most magnificent feathers?

It just works. That’s it.

There is a power in being grungy and dingy. There is a power in not giving a damn. And conversely, there is a power in being immaculate and clean. A different kind of power, in being prim and proper.

It’s really an amazing thing.

We can’t shed these expectations. We can’t shed the affects of our dress. We cannot extract ourselves from our society, from our company. There’s simply no way, unless you live completely alone.

Even in the company of one single other person, your personal appearance will lead to perceptions and inferences on their part, however slightly.

Cats groom themselves. So, you may say that it is unique what we do, but it isn’t. Birds preen. Monkeys groom. It is a natural instinct.

Prior to me busting out the suit for a job interview, I hadn’t touched it for over a year. I remember the last time I put it on, I felt great then, too. And yesterday, wearing my suit downtown, going about business, I felt great again. I felt like the man, although I was sweating and uncomfortable at times, I could handle it. Nothing I couldn’t, a small price to pay for the power of the suit.

My suit is bespoke, 日本製. Made in Japan. I had one custom made only because I did not want to buy a suit made with any synthetic fibers. I also wanted to buy something that was not Made In China. These conditions ultimately led to me having a suit tailor-made, at the mall in Kumamoto City. I still remember the whole ordeal.

It was awesome.

The suit cost about $1000, USD. This suit is not cheap. I thought quite a lot about it. And occasionally, when my bank account has fallen low enough, I’ve thought — I really wish I had a thousand dollars instead of this damned suit that I never wear. How ironic that I have one of the finest suits in the world, and I am this poor! If anyone knew that about me, they would surely think that I was an enormous fool. My only salvation on that front is that I really didn’t buy the suit to impress anybody. I ended up spending this much money on a suit for ethics.

I could have thrifted, sure. I think I tried. If I had gone on this suit quest now, I may try harder to find something thriftable, and then have it tailored to fit me. I don’t know why I didn’t go that route before, except that I know I had landed on the Kikuchi Takeo store, after many investigations into how I could acquire a non-synthetic, non-Chinese suit, and someone suggested I try Kikuchi Takeo. It was on the fourth floor of the mall.

I know I’m a little all over the place here. I’m now halfway between talking about suits and the power of dressing nicely, and telling you the story of how I came to acquire this wonderful suit. I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I am sleep deprived, and overly caffeinated, to tell you the truth. And I’m wearing a suit.

I had the suit made by Kikuchi Takeo, as I’ve now said a few times, and the process was just as awesome as having the actual suit. I didn’t know exactly what I was in for — I didn’t know at all, to be honest. I simply stumbled upon this wonderful thing, custom suit-building. But I remember, when they told me I could build a suit from scratch, and it cost about the same as buying any of the suits they already had. The man showed me the many fabrics that I could choose from — 100% wool, 99% wool and 1% spandex or whatever (probably not spandex), whatever else… And that %1 spandex did make the suit $100 cheaper, I remember. I think so. I was committed to no synthetics, I had to go all the way.

He showed me all the fabrics, the different colors, textures. I was able to feel all of them. They were stupendous. He showed me the various linings, that I could use for the inside of the suit. Again, varied and incredible. Many patterns, some ostentatious, some simple. I chose something simple but with a little pizzaz, I’m looking at it now. Slate gray, with tiny diamond flower-like emblems forming a pattern. For the color, I went with a dark charcoal gray. It was either that or navy. I wanted something really versatile, that could work in all situations, and I already had a baby-blue suit (very synthetic)… I think that’s why I chose gray, as opposed to navy. It was just something different.

I got to choose the buttons. How many, the material, what color. I got to choose everything, people. I’m telling you I had no idea what I was in for. It gave me a great appreciation for suits, now. There are many details. I also chose the lapel-style, I was able to have my name embroidered on the inside of the jacket, and I chose to have a small mark added on the front left of my lapel, for style. I chose the embroidering color and style for that mark, and the final button hole on my sleeves. I think I chose how many buttons were on the sleeves, as well. There are four. Three that are embroidered with the same color as the suit, the dark charcoal grey, and then the final that has the light grey embroidering, that gives it some pop.

I remember that I was quite overwhelmed at the time, as I had not prepared or thought about at all all of these choices that I would have to make, about something that was going to cost me $1000 dollars, and that I would be wearing for the rest of my life (hopefully). There was a lot on the line, in that moment. I ended up having to just totally trust my judgment and hope it was right. In this case, the Takeo Kikuchi guy helping me, and I finally remembered him, my brain had been trying to ressurect his memory this entire time — he was a dapper young man. He had impeccable taste and swag, and he was in his early to mid-twenties. I remember that, because I remember that I trusted his judgment because of this. And I remember that he was very helpful in helping me make this many aesthetic decisions.

I wanted the suit to have formality, but just enough flair. That was the balance we were trying to strike. For that reason, I did choose to have the mark on the front lapel, which was eye-catching, and I also chose to have lapels that flared up at the top. Kind of like Dracula, my brain is saying to me for some reason. I think that this was something I deliberated over enormously, because it was a big decision. This was a mold-breaker, to have lapels like this. I know that. I think after the fact I was reading about suit lapels and they were saying, do not choose the upturned lapels for your suit, they’re over the top, not suited for formality, whatever. Well, I have no regrets.

They took my measurements, I chose out a pair of matching socks, and a dress shirt. White, with some very subtle stripe pattern running vertically. Totally non-synthetic.

I waited a few weeks to get the suit, I went to pick it up, make sure it fit right, and it fit perfectly. And what I have to tell you all is that, in my investigations I had tried on many suits. Many, many suits. In my life, I have worn a few suits. And this suit that I put on, my bespoke, 100% wool suit, I have never worn a suit like that in my life, nothing even close.

Even right now, I wear it, and it feels the same. It feels like I’m wearing a track suit. It’s like wearing pajamas.

That was the #1 thing about all of this suit business that really stood out to me, and still does. I had always thought a suit was just going to be somewhat uncomfortable. I thought that’s how they were. Until this suit, I thought that’s how it had to be. But this suit I wear now, it really is like wearing pajamas. Perfectly fitting pajamas.

How awesome is that? You look great, and you feel comfortable. That’s worth a lot of money right there.

I had wanted the suit in the first place because it was now winter, and all the other senseis at school were wearing suits, and looking professional. I was an ALT, I had my own rules, and I wasn’t required to wear a suit — none of the senseis really were except the top dogs, it seemed. And I had my baby-blue suit, but that was a standout in a school full of black and brown. I wanted something that was on par with the other senseis. I don’t think I ended up getting it, though. By going with this fabulous, bespoke, $1000 suit, that was obviously really nice, I think I ended up going over the top. It was a little too much for a high school teacher, but I paid for it, and dammit, I was going to wear it.

I knew it was going to be a big deal the first time I wore it to school. It was always a big deal when I dressed up. Sometimes I would put on the blue suit for fun, but generally I had stopped wearing it, and opted for muter dress. Well, I wore that suit to school, and it was all any of the classes wanted to talk about. They were shocked and awed. They had never seen Steven-sensei looking so nice and fancy before. And it confirmed that I had probably gone over the top.

The other senseis were amazed by it too. I was very proud to tell everyone that it was 日本製、nihonsei, made in Japan. I’m still very proud of that.

Digging up the old Japanese suit, yesterday, and wearing it for that interview made me remember the power of the suit. I kept it on when I went to the coffee shop afterwards, to do some work. I was feeling like getting work done, as being in a suit lends you to feel, and I had work to do, so I kept it on. But I did feel a little silly, ordering my coffee, wearing full formal dress, suit and tie, and then sitting down and typing away on my laptop. I felt overly dressed. But, who cares?

Today, I decided to wear the suit again. I have business to do. I have a great suit. Why not? But I opted for a black t-shirt instead of the shirt and tie. A little dressed down, like a tech CEO. That’s better.

I’m also wearing Doc Martins because I don’t actually have any formal dress shoes. I thought I had a pair, I know I had a pair. What happened to them? This was giving me a good laugh, when I realized that I would have to wear my Martins to the interview, and that I had gone the whole nine yards, suit and tie, and couldn’t finish the look. But I’m sure that they didn’t even notice. And the boots actually work great with the suit.

Well… that’s what I wanted to say about that…

The psychological power of the suit. Of clothes. It’s a real thing.

I think that for me, a big part of wearing the suit is the element of power that comes with it.

A nice suit is an embodiment of some kind of power. It suggests wealth and status. Con men know that – they’ll wear a nice suit even if they don’t have a dollar in the bank. Grifters know that. The image is important.

It’s interesting that I feel changed when I’m in the suit. That it has that effect on my personal psychology, too. I think that I am very aware of impressions and perceptions, and so part of the putting on of the suit is that I know it is going to impact people’s perceptions and impressions of me. People are going to change how they treat me, for better or for worse. And I think that I almost feel… false, in the suit. I feel like it is almost manipulative. Is that true? No…

What is it, then? You know what it could be?

It’s perhaps that I feel people are expecting something of me, when I’m in the suit.

People are expecting me to be well put together. They are expecting me to have decorum, and confidence. They are expecting me to be smooth and successful. To be professional. Don’t you think?

I think so. And that means that that’s what I have to be.

But then, isn’t this a matter of rising to the occasion?

Or, I don’t have to be that at all. Really, I should be myself, and I should be the same, whatever I’m wearing.

That’s the key.

I wonder how much of this is truth, and how much are my own thoughts and feelings about wearing the suit. What I did want to tell you is that yesterday, trying to find my target parking lot amongst fifteen different parking lots in downtown Nashville, I ended up in the wrong one. I couldn’t get out of the lot without having to pay, even though I didn’t park there, and I pushed the Call For Help button many times, to no avail, and I was pissed off, etc. etc. I went in and talked to the hotel staff about it, asking if they could please let me out, and not have me pay $11. Well, this saga ended up being rather convoluted, and I could not leave the lot, as they were having issues with the machine, and I was then going to be late… I ended up having to resolve it later.

As I approached the counter to handle this issue, I had the thought “They are more inclined to treat me kindly and take me seriously because I am wearing a nice suit.” And it was true that they did both of those things. They were nice people, and I would bet that they would have treated me the same, whatever I was wearing. But, isn’t it interesting that I had that thought?

There is quite a lot of psychology going on here.

I look at myself in the mirror wearing this suit, and I see a totally different guy.

Who is that guy?

People see that too. Parker said this morning, seeing me walk out of my room wearing the suit, “Woah. What’s going on?”

And my man at the coffee shop, the grunge-lover said, “You’re looking good today!!”

This is another element to the suit-wearing. When you’re this dressed up, you stand out. And when you stand out, you inevitably invite and draw attention, like it or not. As these comments show, people will notice, and they might even say something.

This attention-drawing element is another interesting one, for me. I generally like to fly under the radar. It even makes me uncomfortable, to have eyes on me. God forbid anybody thinks I’m cocky or smug! God forbid anybody thinks I’m a jerk!

Well, why shouldn’t I strut my stuff every once in awhile? Why shouldn’t I stand out, sometimes?

I wonder if this is something extraordinarily beautiful people have to deal with. Famous people, too.

Well, enough about that.

Now I have to write more Bob Schmingus.

Bob Schmingus and The King of the Rats: Part 1

(Readers, please recall that Bob Schmingus is a top cat agent who has recently saved America from a humilating loss at the hands of the Chinese King Liu Wei, who wished to purchase MacDonalds and rename it MacWangs.)

Bob Schmingus had just returned from his recent successful adventure, convincing the King of China, who had recently desired the purchase and renaming of the iconic American restaurant chain MacDonald’s to MacWangs, and was enjoying his reward of 20 boxes of Fancy Feast. He was lounging on a beach in the Carribean, at this moment, shades on, feet up, and licking his paws clean, when his phone rang.

It wasn’t his usual ringtone, Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love by Van Halen. No, it wasn’t that, but it was a familiar ring: The Star Spangled Banner. And that could only mean one thing.

The President Of The United States was calling.

Bob Schmingus sighed. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now — he wanted waves and sun. That’s why he came to the Carribean, duh. But when the Prez calls…

He took the call.

“Talk to me, Jim Bob,” said Bob.

“Schmingus, I told you not to call me that. My names Carl. At least call me Carl, if you won’t follow the proper formalities.”

Schmingus chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. He loved messing with the President.

“Alright, Carl Bob. What do you need? Surely can’t be more trouble with the King of China? After we just had such a pleasant time together?”

“Ugh…” Groaned the President.

“It is.”

“Come on. What a guy! Isn’t he ever satisfied?”

“He’s a wily one. We can’t keep heads of tails of him. And we’re in for a long time with this guy… I hate to think about it.”

“So what’s the deal? I’m not exactly his babysitter here. That’s for the Chinese ambassador.”

“I know, Schmingus… I know. But… you know how to work him.”

Schmingus smiled. It was true.

“He respects you,” continued the President.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Birds of feather. So what’s his deal now? What geopolitical problem are we solving today? Wait, don’t tell me. He wants to buy Burger King and rename it to Burger Kang?”

“You know Schmingus, I understand why you two get along. You must have the same brain. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”

“You’re kidding me.”

The President sighed.

“I wish I was, Schmingus… I wish I was.”

Bob stared out at the lolling waves through his black Raybans, but he hardly saw them anymore. His mind was on the mission.

His mind was on China.

“He’s offered 100 trillion dollars for it. They’re thinking of selling. We could block them, but, the legalities, the politics… We need it done quick. You know what’s at stake—the geopolitical blowback, we could lose the culture war—”

“I get it, Pres. It would be a national tragedy, the loss of an American gem, yada yada. What’s the pay?”

“Same as usual.”

“I want Friskies, sardine and anchovy this time.”

“You keep Burger King American and you’ll have whatever flavor of Friskies your little paws could possibly desire.”

“I want Greenies too. Ten boxes.”

“Dammit Schmingus, you glutton! Don’t you ever tired of your hedonic binges? Don’t you ever want something more fulfilling? For a mind so brilliant, you live like a heathen!”

“I like this lifestyle. It suits me.”

The President was silent for a moment.

“There’s something else, Schmingus.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like that.”

“We’re teaming you up for this one.”

Schmingus bolted up, knocking the half-eaten tin of Friskies off of his lap and into the sand.

“Teaming? There is no teaming. I don’t do teams. You know that.”

“This time you do. The situation is getting dicey in the East. You need backup.”

“Like Hell I do!!”

“Dammit Schmingus, I’m not your damned butler! I give you the orders, and you aren’t going alone, dammit, and that’s that!”

Schmingus took a deep breath. The President was really testing him on this one.

“Just tell me who it is, Pres. And it better not be a woman. I’m not looking for any romance—”

“It’s your old pal, Schmingus. It’s your old Navy buddy.”

“No.”

“No one can fly a chopper like him Schmingus. He’s just what we need for the job—”

“NO!”

Schmingus was enraged, and without thinking he slammed his phone shut and hung up.

Immediately, he had regrets. He just hung up on the President of the United States. Not exactly recommended procedure. But…

The President was out of his mind. To suggest that he, Bob Schmingus, international ace, detective, dealmaker, assassin and schmoozer? Go to China with his greatest nemesis and archrival?

Schmingus had kicked his fallen can of Friskies and had thrown himself back on his chair, stewing with rage, when his phone buzzed.

“Pickup point Gorganzola. 11pm.”

— Carl Bob

Bob Schmingus wasn’t sure if he would go. But in the end, he wasn’t one to walk away from a trip to see the King. No he wasn’t. China was one of his favorite countries to work with. Something about the Orient that appealed to him. And he wasn’t going to give it up just because of that damned bastard Boldchungus… the grin that must be on his face right now.

Boldchungus probably hated the assignment as much as Schmingus did. He didn’t play with partners either. How did the President get him on board? Must have offered him a lot of Friskies. Greenies, Churu treats too…

They had that in common, at least. They were both greedy, thrill-seeking bastards.

Schmingus packed his essential gear, a lockpick and his trusty Barret .50 cal, and headed to the pickup point.

Someone was there to meet him.

Standing by the chopper, a model 450x SteathKite, with quad-lazer rotors and a radio-drive cloaking device (a top of the line stealth chopper, undetectable by all modern equipment known to man—or at least, America), and looking as smug as a bug in a rug, was Charlie Boldchungus.

That smug asshole.

“Well, well, well… Little Kitty’s gonna get his paws wet again, huh?”

“Save it, jackoff,” growled Schmingus, throwing his Barrett in the SteathKite’s storage hold. “I’ll rip that loose tongue right out of your mouth. What the hell does that even mean, anyway?”

“It means whatever I want it to mean,” Boldchungus retorted. “Tell me, how did the old man get you on board? What flavor of Friskies was it this time? Sauteed Salmon? Pink Antarctic Krill?”

Schmingus rounded on him in a flash, claws unsheathing.

“At least I don’t work for some god damned Fancy Feast. Pathetic.” Bob spit on the ground.

“You can’t buy taste.”

Boldchungus looked on with his iconic, smarmy grin spread across his face.

“Oh, and you’ve got it, do you?”

Charlie’s eyes screamed disdain. He hated being with Schmingus as much as Schmingus did being with him.

“Listen to me,” said Boldchungus, glaring at his arch-rival. “We don’t have to do play this stupid game. You get me in, you get me out. We both get paid. We don’t have to say as much as kum-ba-yah to each other.”

Boldchungus laughed, and climbed up into the cockpit. “Whatever you say, captain. Me, I’ve decided. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I’ll enjoy it when I’ve got my Friskies,” muttered Bob, hopping up in the co-pilot seat. “And not a minute before then.”

Bob and Charlie went way back, if you can’t tell.

They were two of the hottest hotshots known to catkind. Two of the top feline agents in the entire world.

Six billion cats on Earth, and only a handful could do what these two could do. Part of an elite ring of feline actors, they were employed by governments and private businesses and wealthy individuals worldwide to carry out their respective desires. If the price was high enough, chances are you could find a cat to do it. Some stayed loyal to their countries — others only called a place where they could hoard their Friskies or Fancy Feast home.

Bob Schmingus and Charlie Boldchungus were both American cats, so to speak, and they had stayed loyal—for the most part. Boldchungus was known to run a mission or two for the French. Schmingus got the occasional call from the Japanese Prime Minister, the King of Danes, and Moldovan High Crown.

And, there is some speculation that he might have worked for the current King of China, King Wei. That might be why he had such close ties with the King. But, currently, it’s only speculation…

As far as Boldchungus goes, he was a top-flier. Boldchungus lacked the charisma, the geopolitical brain, intellect and charm of Bob Schmingus—that’s mainly why he despised him. But, of course, there was Lucina—better not to dig that up, not just yet. But what Charlie Boldchungus lacked in brains, he more than made up for in grit and sheer damn luck.

Charlie could find his way out of a truck in a deep muck, blindfolded. He had saved one the world’s top energy executive from an assassination attempt by shooting the assassin’s bullets out of the air. He had managed to find his way home after being buried alive in a Mongolian bunker twenty-three thousand miles deep (he was the only survivor). And in one of his most legendary feats ever, he was said to have flown his helicopter through another helicopter.

No one even knows how that could be possible, really. But he did it.

Why did Schmingus hate Boldchungus then, aside from the fact that he was an insufferable idiot?

It all goes back to the Iran incident…

But that’s for another time.

Jay and Bill

So I am fully obsessed with gardening. It’s not really an obsession — it’s a new hobby. But boy is it a strong one.

This morning, I would out doing my daily surveying, pulling the rhizome grass sprouts, examining the new sprouts and the general condition of things, and then watering. I have a bunch of new sprouts, Cosmos sprouts. Those seeds laid dormant for weeks, probably three weeks at least, before suddenly shooting up overnight, as tall as three or four inches tall. They came out of NOWHERE. And now they are booming, going to work. Two days ago they appeared out of nowhere. Now today, they’re already duplicating the leaves, and there are twice as many that have popped up. It’s a totally different method of sprouting than nearly everything else that has popped up in the garden, which come up quite meekly, with just two little baby green leaves, and develop slowly.

The marigold sprouts came up quick, as fast as the Zinneas. Within only three or four days, they were sprouting. They’ve stayed low to the ground, but the seedlings have rapidly developed in complexity. I like looking at them just because they have an interesting shape. They are a little crowded by Zinneas and I hope they don’t get consumed, but they are at least on the edge of the Zinnea patch.

My Butterfly Milkweed might be sprouting, but it would be early for them, according to the internet. I’m getting some sprouts in that patch. It’s probably something else.

I’m on a spree of meeting neighbors. This morning, Jay called over to me from across the street. “What are you raising?” He said. That’s all it took. I walked over to him and we talked gardening. He said he was interested in raising some native wildflowers, that his girlfriend had been growing herbs in pots. He had a little dog named Bill, a cute dog. When we walked over to the patch, so I could point some things out to him, Bill trampled the dirt area with my Butterfly Milkweed. I almost said something as I watched him walk all over the dirt, but I held back. They probably weren’t sprouting anyway.

Jay said he’d been watching my garden and saw that things were starting to pop up now. My gardening is starting to draw some attention, now that things are actually growing. It was pretty ugly when it was just a giant patch of dirt. It still mostly is a giant patch of dirt. We’re playing a long game, here. (Although, not even that long. It’s crazy how quickly some of these things grow, like the Zinneas.) I just wonder if I’m going to get any blooms this Fall, or if the plants will decide that it’s too close to the end of the season and that there aren’t any pollinators left… if there aren’t any left. But we’ll see. Maybe there will be?

The first frost for Nashville is approximately October 15. That will be a big date. What will happen with the first frost? Will things die? Will they die before that? Will I have any flowers? And then, what will happen to the perennials? Will they have grown enough to come back next year?

The Zinneas are annuals, I looked up this morning. That’s not a big deal. If everything died and I had to replant everything next season, it wouldn’t be a big deal. The planting is easy. But, apparently the plants take time to flourish, some of them not blooming until years later. I don’t think any of mine take that long for their first blooms—possibly the Butterfly Milkweed. I guess this is to say that it would be better if I didn’t have to replant the perennials, and the plants survived and kept going next year. I really don’t know what will happen.

It’s all an experiment. A very interesting experiment.

I’ve thought about what can go in the backyard. I’m intimidated by the backyard. It’s mostly shaded, with dappled sunlight. The ground is not moist, at least not right now, but it can be. Clover is growing well back there, the grass is not growing THAT vigorously. The front yard has been completely different, compared to the back.

It seems that the backyard, being mostly fully shaded, mimics a forested, woodland habitat. So whatever grows back there will be whatever does well in a forest, I think. One difference is that I feel like it’s cooler in the woods, and the backyard still gets hot. That probably won’t matter THAT much to these plants. The other thing they talk about is soil acidity, and I have no idea about that. I would like to know.

I want to plant buttonbush, really badly. I have a vision for a buttonbush in a space in the corner. It would be a perfect barrier between yards, and would fit the space perfectly. The thing is that they say buttonbush likes moist, wet conditions. That corner is not dry (except now in a drought), but I don’t know if it would be moist or wet enough. I would have to water it, and even then I wonder how well it would do. That could be another experiment.

I want to cover the fences with vines, like passionflower and coral honeysuckle. I wonder how to get those started. I talked with a lady at the nursery/gardening center. I asked about planting, if there were seeds, she wasn’t sure about the coral honeysuckle. Then I asked about passionflower, and she said, “Hold on a minute.” She went through a secret door in the back, and she came out a minute later holding two large green spheres, like perfectly spherical limes. She said, “”We have a passionflower plant growing wildly just outside. Here.” And she gave me those seed pods.

I felt like I acquired a special and rare item in a video game. Like a bonus quest. Ask the gardener at Bates about growing passionflower and you can score two free seed pods.

After the deer attack, I sometimes have a fear that I’m going to wake up one morning and find my entire garden decimated. It’s vulnerable out there, unfenced, by a busy street. But so far, no tragedies except for the horrendous deer attack. And the sunflower that was chomped by the deer and lived, it is still the most vigorous one I have. It’s doing great. It handled that assault without skipping a beat.

The Master Gardeners

Yesterday I went to an event held at the Looby Public Library, for fall vegetable gardening. Just to see what’s going on. Currently, I’ve only planted flowers, and carrots. That’s it. Veggies is a whole new world for me.

I went out to a local iconic gardening store and bought more seeds. I’ve been going crazy. So far, I’ve now planted Cosmos, Zinneas, Butterfly Milkweed, Jerusalem Gold Sunflowers, Smooth Blue Aster, Purple Coneflower, Shasta Daisies, Marigolds, Black-eyed Susans, and carrots. And I still have some Goldenrod to plant, more Purple Coneflower, Wild Bergamot…

The watering is starting to be a lot of work. It takes 30+ minutes to do all this watering, and it’s still probably not enough. I fill up the watering can by hand, at our sink. The spigot is on our neighbor’s side of the house (we live in a duplex) and I’m too lazy to text him and ask if he minds me using the hose.

The hard part is not the planting, it’s the tearing up the grass. Most of the grass in our front yard is some extremely tenacious, rhizomous beast-grass. The roots are nebulous and deep. The sprouts are constantly still popping up, even when I think I’ve completely, thoroughly dug out all the roots, removed all traces of the grass.

This grass is quite entrenched in the lawn. And digging it up is hard work. I would even call it backbreaking. I can’t even imagine working on a railroad line, doing whatever those guys did all day. If it’s anything on the level of digging up this grass with a shovel, I couldn’t do it. And it’s compounded 10x in the hot sun.

Basically, you can’t do it in the sun. You’ll die. Or, you just suffer immensely. You have to get up early enough to get some digging time in, or late at night. I’ve done some digging at 10, 11pm at night, long after the sun has gone down. It’s blissful. It’s amazing to be able to do that work without the intense blaze of heat.

As I dig up more and more of this yard, I realize—I’ve bit off quite a bit. I don’t even want to dig anymore, really. But I want to have a large flower garden. And I have to get these seeds down, because the clock is ticking, the winter approaches—and I bought them.

Tonight I’ll have to do more digging.

When you’re doing hard work, it’s amazing how it feels like you’ve done so much more than you’ve actually done. It can be the same with writing. When you’re putting so much into every line, when you’re really crafting each line — it feels like you’re doing so much work, and then you come back and review how much you’ve written, and it’s nothing. Three pages. You worked so hard for those three pages.

The digging is the same. Two mornings ago I dug for a solid two hours straight, from 6:30 to 9:00 am. I took a short break. Backbreaking labor, slow and difficult. It felt like I had dug up ten acres of land. And then, when I stepped back to see how much I’d done, and how much farther I had to go, I was shocked. Depressed. Only about 12 square feet of earth had been cleared. Maybe 15.

Yesterday morning I met Melissa and Taz. She was taking her dog for a little stroll around the neighborhood. I know this dog; he’s one of the most familiar sights in the neighborhood. He barks at me almost nonstop whenever I’m out in the yard. Melissa and Taz live in the apartments across the street. Taz is cute—he’s a small dog, a terrier or something. Grey and white, long fur. And he likes to yap. He loves to yap.

To be honest, like most dogs yapping, it’s really annoying. Taz’s yapping. All the dogs in the neighborhood like to bark, and they’re all annoying. Sometimes lately I’ve wished that dogs were just banned in the city. Sometimes, when they’re really barking up a storm, I just wish that there weren’t dogs around anymore. Not in the city. God damn, it’s so annoying.

But… they are cute. And the yapping isn’t that bad. Mostly, I can ignore it, or I can put up with it. If it is that bad, then you have to tell them. Hey, can you please shut your god damn dog up? Thanks.

You never want to have to do that, of course.

I finally met Taz, who I had been thinking, if he just knew me, he would stop barking at me. I don’t think that’s likely to happen, now that we’ve met. He was still barking at me, as I squatted down to let him sniff me. I did not get a pet in. Melissa said it was his way of saying hi. What a pleasant way of saying hi.

She was holding a lit cigarette and drinking coffee out of a styrofoam cup. That’s the way to wake up, right there.

She asked what I was up to with the garden. I gave her the low down. She was interested. She said it was going to look beautiful when it was done.

I’ll tell you that I have a lot of thoughts about convering all of the boring lawns in the neighborhood into gardens. Into flower beds. I think about how the neighbors will enjoy looking at the flowers in my yard. There are a lot of people living in the complex across the street, like Melissa. They will be able to look across the street and see a wonderful array of wild flowers, hopefully. And the street gets a lot of foot traffic. It will be a welcome addition of beauty on our otherwise mundane street.

Patrick, my duplex neighbor, has done a good job with his house. He’s done a lot of work. He put up a fence, that has been run through twice in the five years since he’s lived in that house, and surrounded it with flowers. Mostly black-eyed susans and purple coneflower, but he’s got some other things. And, he’s got sunflowers.

There are some amazing gardens in East Nashville. Some people are doing really great work.

The Master Gardeners were an old black couple, from North Carolina and Alabama. The man was from Alabama, the woman from North Carolina. But they had been in Nashville for a long time. They were amazing people. The woman did most of the talking, and she was sharp. She knew her facts. There was an incredible amount of gardening information in her brain. The man knew just as much, but he had taken a support role, and spent much of the time showing us pictures of things on his phone, like his collection of plants grown in buckets, the way they had harvested their lettuce, putting the bottom leaves but letting the tops grow, and an enormous, 22-pound watermelon.

After the seminar, which was attended by myself, a black woman named Audrey in her 40s or 50s, and a young white couple who had recently moved to Nashville from California, and who had inherited a plot in a community garden, they offered to take us to their nearby community plot. We went out there and they took us around the plots. The woman was especially excited to show us her peanut plant. It was her first time growing one.

I’ll tell you this — vegetables are weird. Fruits, too. Flowers are easy to understand. What happens? They’re just a plant. They grow up, and then they have beautiful flowers, and you’ve succeeded. They all kind of do the same thing, I feel like. But vegetables and fruits… Strange. They come in all manner of shapes and sizes. What are they doing?

For example, the peanut plant. It was not what I ever would have expected a peanut plant to look like. It was low to the ground, dark green, dense. It had some small yellow flowers blooming. If I had walked across that plant in the wild, never would I have thought it was a peanut plant. And then, the watermelon. It was sprawling. It’s basically a ground vine. I think that it would be described as a vine, right? A vine on the ground. Now, I didn’t know about that. And this couple had a vine that was covering like 80 square feet of ground. Was that one vine? It looked like it. How many plants was that?

Then you have the leafy veggies, kale and lettuce. I mean, those are simple, right. They’re still strange though. And beets, carrots, where you eat the buried part. Is that even a root? Is it a fruit? What is that? And what’s going on with corn?

They had tons of beans. Beans are crazy. Pole beans, green beans… I can’t even remember all the kinds of beans I saw. I learned that there are a lot of kinds of beans.

The man was very excited to tell me how many kinds of tomatoes there were. He said, “How many kinds of tomatoes do you think there are?” I said, “Oh man, there must be a lot… hundreds—” he said, “There’s over three-thousand kinds of tomatoes.”

Probably just as many kinds of beans.

Some of these veggies can grow in as little as 20 days. I think the radishes were one of those. You can have radishes in a month. How wild is that? From a seed to an edible radish, that quickly. But I’ve seen how quickly these plants can grow. The Zinneas, the sunflowers. It’s all they do. They’re a-growin’.

I’ve already allocated so much of my full sun terrain for flowers. There isn’t much land left for veggies. But we have an entire concrete runway along the driveway, that we could cover with buckets and pots, and plant in those. That would add a lot of real estate. I can see that becoming a reality.

The man said something that was really appealing to me. I’ll remember this fact. He said that they would go to the store and price the vegetables that they had grown, and that they had in one year saved themselves about $900-1100 dollars on produce. That’s not nothing, folks. $1k worth of veggies? That stuck with me.

Out in the community garden, in every plot there were fruits and vegetables, except one. There was one plot where the gardener was growing flowers, Zinneas and sunflowers. They had an amazing strain of sunflower that grew only a single, massive flower at the top. They had a row of them, all about the same height, and all with an enormous flower at the top. And then, they eight or ten different kinds of Zinneas. They were all Zinneas I think, the Master Gardener woman thought so, but each one was a different kind. White, red, pink, orange, purple… it was a small Zinnea botanical garden. And the best part is, it was absolutely covered with butterflies. Pollinators in general, bees, leaf-footed bugs, huge, shiny beetles that I don’t think I have even seen, were all there, but the butterflies were amazing. It was like being in a butterfly house. Probably 60-80 butterflies were grazing on that flower patch. It was really incredible.

That made me want to grow more flowers. More than a peanut plant or watermelon, I still think I just want to grow flowers. For the insects. But, why not both?

I imagine my garden to be a kind of Tennessee native flower botanical garden. That’s what I want it to be. And people will walk by and think, “Now, what is that? That’s something I’ve never seen.” And I’ll be able to take people through the garden and say, “Yes, these are the Smooth Blue Asters, the Swallowtails love them, yes, that’s right, those are Drop Dead Red sunflowers, surprisingly easy to grow. That? Oh, that’s buttonbush, hard to grow if the soil isn’t wet enough, but I’ve managed it here…”

The Last Gigachad

Alright y’all. You’re invested. You want to know. Who is the sixth Gigachad? Have they been found?

They have been found.

It’s this b**** (please excuse my language).

Meet Florges. フラージェス. (Furaajyesu).

If you aren’t immediately on board, let me break it down for you. There’s something you need to know.

First of all, she is NOT a Grass-type. It’s a trick. Certainly you would think she must be. I thought she would be. She is not, but she has Grass-type moves. So she can still defeat measly Water-types.

She is only Fairy-type, which is still a great type, and also by not actually being Grass-type, she doesn’t open herself up to weaknesses to Flying, Fire, Bug, Ice… Grass has lots of weaknesses. So that’s good. (Except it doesn’t really matter at all because the game is so easy that I can beat it with my eyes closed at this point.)

Florges is stunning. We see that. And she comes in many colors.

Mine is yellow.

Now, she obviously has charisma and charm. This is a charming Pokemon right here. We can all agree on that. Right?

She has major Queen energy. A diva and a queen. Not too soft or feminine for my team of gangsters. Just the right amount.

I think she adds a certain element of polish and refinement, and a dash of feminine energy. Not that Tinkaton isn’t feminine, but Tinkaton has a little more of a crazed, insane energy. And Soubureizu is a scary, no-nonsense killer. Florges is rounding out the team, even while she blasts you into smithereens with concentrated moonbeams.

Which, yes, she can do.

To be a real Gigachad, you can’t just be swaggin’. You have to be strong.

She’s strong.

Florges can summon the full power of the moon and bomb her foes with it. That is a very satisfying thing to do, I’ll tell you, if you’ve never had the pleasure of doing it yourself. And as if that were not enough, she can also harness the power of the sun, and fire a magnificent destructo-beam of solar energy into her opponent’s face.

She also has insanely high Special Defence. Insanely high.

When thinking about who could be the sixth and final Gigachad, I had a feeling that this Pokemon (Flabébé) might have been the one. And it did turn out to be her.

This is the first version of Florges. And here is the second.

Neither Flabébé nor Floette suggest what incredible power and beauty lies in their final form. I wouldn’t have thought this thing even evolved. Who would have imagined that this soft-looking flower child had it in them to become such a regal, majestic queen?

And look at her now!

The story of Flabébé just goes to show you: everyone deserves a chance. Any one of these little darlings can have the greatest glow-up of the century. You can’t write them off right out of the gate.

I mean, remember this guy?

It’s the classic story of the nerdy kid in school who ends up becoming a billionaire, and cool. And perhaps there was one kid who saw their potential and stuck with them in those dark days. Dorameshiya (Dreepy) is that kid.

With the addition of Florges to the roster, the full team of Gigachads has been assembled.

Real Gangsters, 100% Swaglords, Escaped Convicts, Ultimate Gigachads

You can see how THE QUEEN rounds out the team vibes. Every other member of the gangster squad—Gaburias, Doraparuto, Soubureizu, Dekanuchan, Manyuura— all of them look like they could’ve just busted out of Poke-prison. They’re hard.

But Florges? You would be totally surprised to find out she was an ex-convict. What kinds of henious crimes had she committed? You would look at her in awe and wonder to what extraordinary deviousness she had been up to that landed her behind bars.

I imagine she would be running mob rings, leaking information, embezzling monies and generally doing a lot of double-crossing.

So… The Gigachad Army is complete. What now?

This is about the end of the Pokemon arc for me. I’ve almost entirely stopped playing the main game, and have spent all of my recent time scouring the land for the truest, greatest gangsters, most notable and worthy Gigachads. And now that I’ve got them, there is simply no one that can stand in my way.

I’m near the end of the game. The story is picking up—it’s actually pretty good for a Pokemon game. There are many characters (too many), and you should have never given them your phone number because half of them are calling you all the time. The other half magically show up whenever it’s time for the plot to move, and they usually all decide to do this at once, so that for most of the game you have absolutely no story progression and minimal dialogue, and then you unsuspectingly walk into a room and are inundated with 400 lines of complex plot conversations.

From some of these lengthy dialogues, last night, we learned that the delinquent children who created a gang called the Star Gang (スター団) or Star Army, the truant children who are no longer attending the school (of which you are a new student), have all dropped out and formed the gang because they were severly bullied at school. It’s something of a twist, as you are led to believe that they are just ne’er-do-ells and don’t want to go to school.

At the defeat of the fourth gang leader, the previous school’s principal shows up, and he further elaborates on the great tragedy of the bullying, and his failure as a principal, and how he destroyed the records, which was horrifying information for the current school principal, who is accompanying you undercover, trying to get the kids back to school…

I missed exactly why the last school principal did destroy the records. This was on dialogue line 355 and I was starting to get tired of playing at that point.

There is one reason to keep going, and that’s to figure out who the mystery character カシオピア is, Cassiopia. (Which, isn’t that a great name? Cassiopia is an amazing name.)

All game, you have been getting calls from this mystery person, who has recognized your extraordinary potential, as everyone did somehow after you won your first three Pokemon battles, requested your assistance in taking down the Star Gang, and who pays you for it. I remember in the beginning that you are given the option to refuse to help her, which I think I took, but somehow you end up working with her anyway, because she’s part of the plot. Well, we all want to know who this mystery woman is and what she’s up to. She could even be a he, that would be a twist. She could even be the principal! And he had contrived the whole bullying episode to create a scandal and oust the previous principal. Now that would be juicy.

It’s good to have some mystery and intrigue in your story. What’s the deal with Cassiopia? Who was the bully that ruined the lives of so many kids at the school and led to the creation of the notorious and renegade Star Gang?

I haven’t formed many theories and haven’t cared much about the Star Gang. I’ve been Gigachad hunting. But now that I’ve got the squad… we might just have to see how the game ends.

The Fifth Gigachad

After a long night of candlelight adventures, involving a deep dive through my mental and emotional state, reading old journals and having reflections on life and my purpose — I knew there was one thing I wanted to do for you today, upon my waking. There was one mission I had to fulfill as my duty, on this Wednesday, in the middle of August, in the year 2025, one quarter of the way through the 21st century, what is most likely to be known to humankind as the greatest century in human history.

I have to tell you something. First of all. My two dollar candle (it was $1.99 at Kroger) is STILL going. I must have gotten forty or fifty hours of burn time out of this baby. Unassuming and unscented, it looks like a glass of milk, with white wax, and it sits in a literal glass cup, that looks like any regular, cheap glass drinking cup. It cost two dollars at Kroger. Yet it is the most superior candle I have ever spent my money on.

George Washington spent $15,000 (in modern monies) in candles to get through a winter. That poor guy. He had a large estate. I wonder how many candles he had. What was he getting up to?

I was thinking about him because I feel blessed that my fire light is cheap as heck, in the modern world. And I was thinking about him burning candles in the winter because I’ve been thinking about how this candlelight thing is going to go when the nights are fifteen hours long.

I’m ready for it.

We need torches.

So, again after writing all day yesterday about finding the Fourth Gigachad, Soubureizu, I am now fully in on this Gigachad quest. Today, you don’t need a huge entire Pokemon Gigachad discussion. You don’t need a full story. You already know the criteria for making it on the Gigachad squad — you certainly read my last blog post. You are invested now, I know, you know the backstory, the failures of the giraffe and the dolphin and the scarab beetle.

And if you read my post TWO posts ago, you may remember that I said I had a lot of eggs in THIS guy’s basket.

This is ドラメシヤ, Dorameshiya, AKA Dreepy.

Let me tell you about this thing.

As I first began my great Paldean adventure, it wasn’t long before I started to spy a strange icon pop up on the radar. There’s a little minimap in the game that shows you what Pokemon are around, and I started to see, occasionally, a giant triangular head, with big yellow eyes, and with blue and green coloration. Whatever this Pokemon was, it had my interest, and based on the colors and the fact that I always saw it by rivers made me think it must have been some kind of frog creature. I guessed it would be Water / Grass type, most likely.

Every time I saw the icon, I went to it, trying to find one of these mysterious creatures. I had been hunting for it, couldn’t find it, couldn’t find it — and then one day, I finally did.

It was not what I expected. A whispy little green weakling, floating in midair, with big yellow eyes.

What the heck is it?

Interesting Pokemon, though. And it was not a frog, not Water or Grass-type at all. No, it was Ghost / Dragon. That was the most shocking thing. Ghost / Dragon? A dragon ghost? Okay. Before, it had my interest. Now it had my attention.

Pretty much all Dragon-types are powerful. And the fact that it was also a ghost? Something good has got to come out of this thing, right? Something really good. That was my thinking.

What was Dorameshiya’s secret? I was very curious. I kept it around, and I trained it. I trained it. I tried to fight with it. But here was a problem.

Dorameshiya is the weakest Pokemon in the game, by far. No contest. Even worse than Karabou, the fire knight child, even worse than Teddiursa, the cute little teddy bear.

Teddiursa. An absolute monster-beast compared to Dreepy.

Dreepy could not kill anything, Dreepy could not hang around with anyone, in any fight. Dreepy was 100% useless. Could not even finish someone off.

I would set up a Pokemon for being taken down. Surely, I could put Dreepy in, after weakening it, I could bring in the Dreepster and have it get the finishing blow and get a little extra exp. Right? Surely Dorameshiya could handle things now.

No. My Dreepy must have been KO’ed about fifty times.

Long story short — I completely gave up on using Dorameshiya or getting anything out of it at all. He was simply not a part of the game. He was just on my team, growing, waiting, slowly leveling up and doing nothing, all in the hopes of future greatness. I stuck it out with this yahoo until about level 42, and then I started to feel suspicious, that he was STILL stuck as a runt, that far along. Surely, he should be evolving now. Surely he must stop being an unbearable weakling, like, NOW.

I did my research, WITHOUT any spoilers (so I didn’t know what the evolutions would look like, because that takes a lot of the fun out of it), and the omnipotent internet gave me some answers. It told me that I didn’t have to do anything fancy. No trickery, no cursed armor. You just had to stick with this loser until level 50. And then, for the final form, level 60. SIXTY.

Come on!!!!

But you know, if they are going to make you wait that long, the longest you ever have to wait for an evolution in the history of Pokemon — the payoff MUST be good. Right? It MUST be.

Still, I was bored of sticking it out with Dorameshiya. I put him away and turned to other Pokemon, tried many others. But no one was making the cut, except Tinkaton, and then Soubureizu.

And then yesterday evening, I knew what I had to do.

I had to know if Dorameshiya was going to be the fifth Gigachad.

I evolved him into the second form. Now I had some hope.

Now, look at what we got here. ドロンチ. Doronchi is quite a step up. And that’s a cool name — Doronchi. We are starting to have a Pokemon here.

Dorameshiya just went and got its older brother. At least he looks like he could handle himself somewhat more, and he could. Doronchi could actually fight now, although it was still nothing powerful.

This was encouraging. Who would follow Doronchi? We had to get to level 60.

It was a slog, I’ll tell you. It was taking quite a time to get from 50 to 60. And for those last few levels, I just decided — I was all in. My primary objective was getting Doronchi to 60. I had to know.

Could he be The Fifth Gigachad?

I have to tell you guys, I was somewhat afraid of knowing the truth. I was afraid that all of my investment would not pay off. I was afraid of being let down.

I had put so much time and energy into this weakling. I had him for most of the game. And now I was about to have my answer. Gigachad or no?

Well y’all.

I’ll let you decide.

ドラパルト, AKA Doraparuto, AKA Dragapult.

Is this The Fifth Gigachad?

This is definitely the fifth.

Look at that slant in the eyes; look at that squint. What a sassy Pokemon! A giant salamander tail! And what’s up with the hands? Why does it hold its hands like that? That’s just goofy.

Something about it is giving cat. I don’t know what it is.

This Pokemon is a trickster. This Pokemon is full of swag. And he’s using his children? brothers? sisters? as ROCKETS?? Do you see the Dorameshiya in the slots on his glider thing?

As soon as he evolved, he learned ドラゴンアロー (Dragon Arrow). That involves him launching a bombardment of his Dorameshiya children at the enemy Pokemon.

Come on. That’s badass.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Doraparuto is The Fifth Gigachad.

And you don’t even know about his STATS yet.

The stats are out of control.

Speed 200. Yes people, 200. At level 60. Unprecendented. Never before has a 200+ stat been seen. But he’s not just fast.

Attack 183. Very high. Special Attack 157. Still great. This makes him a dual-threat attacker. All shall fear him.

So, yes. Charisma? Swag? Absolutely. Power? Out of this world.

Confirmed Gigachad.

Welcome to the team.

Now, we just need one more to complete our team. We can have backups, sure. There doesn’t HAVE to be a limit on our Gigachad army. However, you can only have six Pokemon on the team at a time. That means that a true Gigachad gangster squad of hitters will have six at any time. And here we have five.

We have to find one more.

The sixth will be tricky, because they really do have to be a strategic choice. The current lineup of slammers is ballin’ out of control, but they do have one glaring weakness, probably two real weaknesses.

Pokemon strategists. Do you see?

If you are advanced, you may see hundreds of flaws in this plan. Well, I am not advanced. I’m basic. But I see two problems.

I simply have no way to defeat a Water-type.

That’s it. And any Fighting-type that knows a Dark move will give me a run for my money.

Can we have such a glaring weakness on our team, and truly have them be a gangster squad, if they can be so easily stymied by a measly Water-type? Is this acceptable? I don’t think so.

The sixth Gigachad therefore must be someone special. They must be an enemy of the Water-type.

I laid in bed last night, the question of The Sixth Gigachad occupying my mind. Yes, we need someone who can defeat our Water-type nemesis… yes, they have to be swaggin’, they must have unbridled raw power… Could it be an Electric-type? Is there a Grass-type yet untapped? Who can answer the call?

Swag and charisma, swag and charisma…

Could it be…

No, surely not…?

This one?

Tinkaton Lore // The Fourth Gigachad

HANNA BEE COFFEE

I am at a new coffee shop, next to a quaint, charming bookstore here in East Nashville. Not at the traditional and beloved Ugly Mugs, because they are closed for a staff summer party. That’s great—

Oh. I just saved a child’s shoe. It was a Croc.

Something tumbled off a mother and child standing in front my table. She didn’t notice. The child was just starting to realize it had lost something important, and was trying to figure out how to tell Mama, when I picked it up and brought it over to her.

“Ma’am,” I said, the dad realizing what’s happening.

(I’m watching them right now, they just took the shoes off, put them back on. I think this might be a reoccuring problem for them.)

(They just passed me and the dad said, with a twinkle in his eye, “Thanks for the recovery mission.”)

I had said, “Shoe down,” to the Mom. She smiled and said thanks, and put the shoe back on. I’m saying shoe, but it was a Croc. With a dinosaur on it.

I’m not at my usual cafe, as I was saying, my favorite, because of the staff party. That’s alright. I’ve been meaning to check this Hanna Bee Coffee out anyway.

My rating? It’s alright. It’s like all of the other cafes, bar Ugly Mugs.

Ugly Mugs has risen up and taken the crown for a few reasons. I can see now and am reflecting on exactly what sets it apart. If I had to break it down…

It’s a large space with a variety of seating. Tables, large wooden table, individual circular tables, square tables, a counter, another taller counter by the window, a couch, and there’s outdoor seating as well, in a nice yard space on the side.
Lots of light. Most of the store is windows. 3/4 of the walls of the store are windows, ceiling to floor. Awesome.
Staff. Staff are friendly and cool. That’s always a plus.
Community. There are all walks of people hanging out at Ugly Mugs. Remote workers, business people, friends, students. Everybody fits in.

So there ya go. The cafe that I’m in right now, as with many of these cafes, at least when I go seems to be mostly or entirely remote workers. (It makes sense with the times that I’m usually at these cafes, though. During normal 9-5 work hours.) The other people don’t stick around and hang out. The cafe I’m at right now is all remote workers, or students studying. Everyone has a laptop. Including me.

My Osaka Tully’s was a lot like Ugly Mugs. Large, lots of seating options, different crowd of all walks, entirely surrounded by windows, floor to ceiling, and a good staff. Bustling atmosphere.

Now I have a problem, which I can remedy easily, at this current time, which is to find an outlet. Eventually I will have to charge this laptop.

I like where I’m sitting right now, but no outlet…

TINKATON LORE

Tinkaton really is a gem. I can’t stop thinking about her.

I wanted to know more about her origins and her Japanese name, Dekanuchan. Truly, this Tinkaton is an interesting and captivating Pokemon. What is her story?

I feel there is a clue in her name, as there usually is. I’m especially wondering if her name holds a reference to her weapon. The deka is probably dekai, でかい meaning huge. And chan is just the cutesifying suffix that we put on things, like inu-chan, to make them cute. Puppy-chan. Now it’s cute.

It’s the nu part that I’m not sure about.

Dekanuchan’s middle form name is Nakanuchan. 中 Naka just meaning middle, probably. So, what’s the nu? Nuchan?

Kanuchan is the name for the first form of this Pokemon. Doesn’t that sound cute? Kanuchan. There was a girl in my English Club named Kano and I would call her Kano-chan. Kanuchan reminds me of that. So does that Ka mean anything? Or kanu?

There is one more clue about her that is significant — she is a Fairy type. That suggests that she is based off of a yokai, a Japanese fairy/spirit. There are thousands of yokai out there, and I don’t recognize her as any yokai I know. They’ve either made one up or are using an existing yokai as inspiration.

Alright. Time to get the TRUTH.

Okay. I just did extensive research (about 20 minutes worth). Here’s what I’ve dug up.

It appears that the Kanuchan/Dekanuchan Tinkaton line is not necessarily based off of any one character, and not a Japanese yokai, but rather is a production of brilliant creative synthesis. There was probably some inspiration drawn from from Iberian folktale creatures, especially the mouros, which would make sense as the Pokemon Violet/Scarlet world is based around the Iberian Peninsula.

Mouros may have been a primary source of inspiration.

From a Myth and Folklore Wiki: “The Mouros are a race of supernatural beings from Galician, Asturian, Leonese and Portuguese mythologies.”

(Galician? Asturian? Leonese? Do you know about those? I only know one of these words, Portuguese. Must be some deep lore.)

We can see from this picture, clearly depicting them in the act — they are small, and they are plundering. We know that Dekanuchan is also a fun of plundering, as her Pokedex entry said she loves to do.

They also have those tiny bodies and massive hands. I can see the resemblance.

Further supporting the theory of Mouros inspiration is that they were goldsmiths, and concerned with the extraction of gold from the earth. This seems to be part of Kanuchan aka Tinkatink’s character creation, as a “tinkerer” or “smith”, or simply a metal enjoyer. And you can see her hammer looks like it was forged from scrap. Perhaps she made it herself?

So, this all makes sense, and now we have the question of the ka in the name. Kanu, nakanu, and dekanu. I put “kanu” in my Japanese dictionary, and we have our answer.

That first kanji, 鍛, means forge, or temper. The second, 冶, means smithing. And Kanuchi is a reading of these two kanji, 鍛冶, and is a family name (so the dictionary says). The dictionary is also telling us that 鍛冶 is typically read as kaji (かじ).

So our beloved Tinkaton, Dekanuchan, is based off of an Iberian goblin blacksmith creature, and her name is a play on smithing and metalworking. There is actually some wordplay happening in her name, with kanu being a reference to kanuchi, and then nakanu being made of naka, meaning middle, and she is the middle evolutionary form, and kanu, the kanuchi element — and then for dekanu, again being deka as in dekai, giant, and still with that kanu as in kanuchi. Kanuchan itself almost sounds like Kanuchi. You can imagine a Japanese person out there with the family name Kanuchi that is already being called Kanuchan as a nickname.

There you have it, folks.

This is the Tinkaton lore. As the kids say, that’s the tea.

(I have to reference this article, In-depth article of Tinkatink inspiration sources, because this good man did extensive research on Tinkaton’s possible inspirations and historal background. I could only handle about twenty minutes of Tinkaton origin research. This man must have spent hours on it. Thank you for hard work Aashish Victor, you good man.)

Man, isn’t this how life goes? This is exactly how life goes. I’m still at the coffee shop, and I needed that outlet. My laptop is now approaching critical outlet-needing time. I’ve had my eye on an open table with an outlet, a table that has remained open for the entire duration of me writing my Tinkaton lore story—but as I said, I liked the spot I’ve been in. I’ve been watching this open table, knowing that I will want to make a move over there eventually, but no one seems to be wanting to take it, it’s been available for the last hour, and THE MOMENT I STAND UP TO MOVE OVER THERE, a group of friends sits down and takes it.

Come on!!!!!!!!!

How classic. I knew that would happen, too. I knew it.

This post is surely long enough already. I’m kind of stalling on anything I’m really supposed to be doing, like reviewing my Japan memoir one final time and making the last edits, before trying to send it to some people and get it published. I’m stalling on that. I don’t know why — I have a mental block.

I’m also in limbo about a potential job. It’s a weird place to be. I’m sitting in-between projects, in-between jobs, in a limbo state. I would prefer not to be, I’ll tell you that.

And, it’s raining.

(My limbo has been somewhat resolved. Official interview incoming.)

It finally rained today, after fifteen days of blazing sun.

I feel like a real farmer now, because I had been praying for, hoping for rain, for my good plants that need it, need a deep soaking and watering, my seedlings and juvenile sunflowers and zinneas.

This morning, sitting outside in front of the house and enjoying our coffee, as is our household tradition, Parker tells me that it will rain today and tomorrow. Today, 5mm, tomorrow 15. Well, we got the rain. Sweet, sweet rain!

And we got more than 5mm. Unless it takes a ton of rain to get even 5mm, I think we got more than that. That’s good. We needed it.

It has been drought conditions here in the last two weeks. Scorched earth. People’s Hydrangeas are going crispy and wilting. I seem them all around the neighborhood. I read that Hydrangeas need a lot of water. They are not native. (Well, four strains of them are.) I think the main varieties that we are using are not native to the US. I only see the same one or two types of Hydrangeas in the neighborhood. They have all been suffering in this drought.

THE FOURTH GIGACHAD

Now I will tell you about The Fourth Gigachad.

Tinkaton was the third Gigachad. On my team of serious ballers, of total Gigachads, Tinkaton was the third true boss to earn a lasting spot on the team. Tinkaton is not going anywhere, with her sass and power, and giant 100 kilogram hammer. That left us with three more spots on the roster. So yesterday evening, after writing up for you about Tinkaton, and going about my other life business, I found myself laying on my couch, and thinking.

Thinking hard.

Who will be the fourth Gigachad?

We found them.

Before I reveal to you who has next stood out from the pack and earned their spot on this team of true swaglords, I will tell you some of the failure stories. There have been quite a few failures.

It takes a lot to make it on this squad — to be an absolute Gigachad. I thought carefully about what exactly it takes. What do the success stories have in common? Why did Tinkaton rise up? Weavile, the ice-weasel? Garchomp, the sandshark?

I decided that it all boiled down to two essential characteristics.

Swag (charisma, personality).
Power

Swag but no power? Not good enough. Power but no swag? Can’t be on the team.

Here is the roster so far. Feast your eyes on these embodiments of Swag and Power.

Before I landed even on these three, there were many investigations.

I had very high hopes for this guy.

I spotted him rolling around in the desert, rolling his ball of mud (I thought it was poo, of course, as he resembles a dung beetle). It was a beautiful sight.

Cute and charismatic, and he was actually strong, for a tiny little dung beetle. He had one evolution, which I figured would be a Ground type, which at the time I needed. In my mind he was just going to become a larger, more badass dung beetle. Possibly with armor, rolling a spiked ball, anything like that. Maybe he would become something like Heracross, with a big horn and a powerful rolling ball.

I had much hope for this dung beetle Pokemon. He showed a lot of promise. I worked hard to evolve him, running around in a field for 1000 steps, having him roll his little ball around for about ten minutes, before he was ready to unleash his true power. Well, he finally was evolving, and I was excited to see what kind of a Gigachad beast he would become.

Imagine my shock and horror, when THIS is what came out.

Excuse me??? What the hell? A Psychic type??? A Scarab beetle???

You might think it’s cute. That first picture makes it look cuter than it is. It game it does not have a cute little face like that. It’s just floating in there, rolling its giant magic pink orb around in the air. It’s stupid. Not badass. Not an armored wrecking ball roller. A floating magic scarab Psychic beetle? Come on.

I was horribly disappointed.

I tried out quite a few other hitters, including this giraffe.

What an incredible Pokemon. Rikikirin. Rikikirin is huge, towering over most other tiny Pokemans.

Rikikirin is awesome, has some personality, definitely. But Rikikirin is too slow. Too slow. Take a hit, get smacked, good game. We just can’t have that.

Unfortunately, it was the same with my shiny green teddy bear.

Look at this guy. He LOOKS like a Gigachad. Yes he does.

This Pokemon has the air of a gangster. He is clearly up to no good. You don’t want to mess with him; he’s taking no nonsense. And mine was shiny. Very rare. (That’s why he’s green, he’s usually brown.) My Ringuma is the only shiny Pokemon I’ve ever had, because they’re so rare. And yet…

This Gigachad contender went the same way as the Rikikirin. Poor Ringuma was TOO SLOW and TOO WEAK.

Sad!

Here’s the deal. If you’re going to be slow, you have to take a hit. You have to be able to get smacked, and then turn around, say “Who threw that piece of paper at me????” menacingly, laugh and then clobber whoever smacked you. That’s how it has to be. You have to be able 1. Take the hit and 2. Knock them out.

At least, you have to be able to knock them out. If you can take 20 hits, you can take your time in knocking them out, fine. But if you can’t handle getting beat up, then you at least need to turn around and obliterate your opponent in a single strike, after letting them whoop on you.

Well, Ringuma couldn’t do that. He couldn’t take it and could just barely dish it out. Rikikirin at least would do serious damage. It could shoot two lazer beams from its eyes. That’s powerful.

(I just did some research — apparently this giraffe is a powerful Pokemon in competitive. Rikikirin may have some untapped potential, it’s true.)

Now, I did have another top contender, that was extremely powerful, and majestic. This Pokemon was a go-to of mine for a long time.

It’s a White Ermine. How amazing is that? This is モスノウ, Mosunou. Like, Moth Snow.

The only real problem with Mosunou was that it I got bored with it. It was too strong. It could hardly ever be killed. It was an absolute beast. It one shot everything. How incredible. But… where’s the charisma? Where’s the personality?

Not enough charisma. Mosunou could possibly make a reappearance, except it has been replaced as an Ice-type by the significantly more charismatic Manyuura. (Weavile.)

マニューラ. Sorry, Mosunou.

Manyuura aka Weavile is actually a legitmate gangster. It’s Pokedex entry:

“They travel in groups of four or five, leaving signs for one another on trees and rocks. They bring down their prey with coordinated attacks.”

A pack animal. That’s gangster.

So, who is the fourth Gigachad? You want to know.

I was on the couch, racking my brain. Who has what it takes to be a Gigachad? Who has potential? Thinking, thinking…

And then, Parker’s words hit me.

I had been telling him about my team, keeping him in the loop. He knew about Tinkaton’s glory and beauty. He was aware of my hope and faith in the pathetic weakling dolphin Pokemon. He knew of my disappointment in Rotom, of my anger and betrayal by the Psychic scarab dung beetle.

Parker had been following my progress and giving me answers to Pokemon questions that I didn’t want to look up myself, because I didn’t want spoilers. And so, he knew that there had been a Pokemon that I liked from early on, that I had a good feeling about, and it was this’un.

This is カルボウ. Karubou. In English, Charcadet.

Now, this little guy has some charisma.

I was immediately attracted to this Pokemon, for obvious reasons. Fire? Awesome. A knight? Incredible. We love Don Quixote. We love knights. Knights are cool. Flaming knights? Even better. And if the first form is this cool, well then how about the second? There was no way that this Pokemon did not evolve into something amazing, so thought I. I kept him in my party, I trained him, I fought with him… (I should say her, because mine was a girl.)

What happened with my little Karubou was this: I simply forgot about her. Parker’s research revealed that Charcadet needed a special item to evolve, and you couldn’t get it until later in the game, and I tried to get it, but it was too convoluted, and long story short, it was too long before I could evolve this swag little gangsteress, and I couldn’t keep it around, because unfortunately, it was so, incredibly weak. Unusably weak.

I had put her away, stored her in the bank, until another day—and I had all but forgotten about Karubou, until I was lamenting my struggles on finding the coolest, most Gigachad Pokemon for my team, and Parker then hit me with, “What about that one Pokemon? The teacup Pokemon.” (Because you had to defeat teacup Pokemon to get the shards to trade for the item to use on this guy to make it evolve… Convoluted, I know.)

Long story short, people, this is the story of The Fourth Gigachad.

I remembered my little Karubou, I now had the teacup shards, I went and hunted down the stranger in Pikke town, got the special item, the cursed armor, Noroiyoroi,ノロウイヨロイ. I gave it to my little fire knight child, and held my breath.

Now, ladies and gentlemen — here is the reveal you’ve been waiting for.

Behold; The Fourth Gigachad.

Come on!!!!! Come the hell on!!!!!!!!

Two swords???? NO hands??? Blue flame????? Ferocious look in eye????? A ghost??????

When my Karubou evolved into this baby, Soubureizu,ソウブレイズ, in English Ceruledge, I have to tell you.

I audibly gasped. I jumped up off the couch.

I’m serious.

Come on y’all. This is a Gigachad right here.

Visually, aesthetically, I could tell that this was an absolute top contender for being on the gangster squad. But there is another test — it’s not all about looks. Ringuma failed that test.

Soubureizu had to prove itself on the field of battle.

I had high hopes, and it turned out, yeah. She’s actually strong.

I mean, if you have two swords instead of hands, and your head and eyes are on fire, and you’re a ghost, you should be strong, right? How could you be weak? It simply wouldn’t make any sense. And that is true for Ceruledge.

Soubureizu is a true hitter. And her typing is perfect, a Ghost/Fire-type. What about the story? What does the Pokedex tell us about this mysterious anime-character-esque killer?

“An old set of armor steeped in grudges caused this Pokémon’s evolution. Ceruledge cuts its enemies to pieces without mercy.”

There you go. A flaming ghost knight with swords for hands, cutting her enemies to pieces mercilessly.

Welcome to the team, fourth Gigachad.

We wonder — who will be next? Competition is fierce. Only two spots left.

Could it be… this guy?

Investigations are ongoing. Stay tuned.