Katydid With Gas

Click here for the large view.

I can tell I'm getting a local reputation. When I stopped into the bank the first thing a staff member asked me was, "Do you have your camera with you?"....

Two women behind the counter called my attention to "a big green bug on the yellow pole" at the drive-through. Before I even saw it I said, "It's probably a katydid." Down here katydids are big green bugs par excellence.

I thanked them and went back outside. Sure enough. I've taken photos of other katydids, but this time I took a video as well. I added my fingers to give an idea of the scale.

One Katydid, With Interest (1:32)



I'm guessing this is a broad-winged katydid, Microcentrum rhombifolium, Family Tettigoniidae (Katydids). It's about three inches long, which supports rhombifolium over the smaller retinerve with which this species is frequently confused.

Today my gas tank runneth over. Literally. I was filling up at a pump that did not shut off, and I was already looking at it strangely because my car was taking in more gas than it usually does.

And for good reason! Fortunately the splash was small because my reflexes are still fast and images of impending conflagration came to me even faster. I reported the incident at the convenience counter, whereupon a guy standing in line gallantly offered to solve the problem by stepping outside to light a cigarette.

"That would solve the problem," I told him, "but not in the way we want."

I made a mental note to myself to set a point at which I stop pumping no matter what. I've gotten to know my tank's capacity, so from now on I'll listen to my instincts. When I told Mary she commented that service stations make money from spills and suggested I inform a regulatory agency as well. I'm not the paranoid sort, but it does seem like plausible math: the price of gas has dropped + stations make more money from spills =

... willful proliferation of explosive fire hazards? Got to think about that one a little more.

Of all the indelible scenes from Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, the one that struck me most when I saw it as a kid was that of a lit cigarette causing a service station to blow up. (I saw a lot of movies as a kid that I probably shouldn't have seen so young.) Even the bloody sight of people being picked apart didn't chill me as much as the sheer vulnerability of being in a place where volatile fluids and incendiary devices meet -- probably because the latter seemed much more likely in comparison. Gasoline ignites in the real world. Birds attack people in the real world, too, but they don't get as much air time.

Today I got a small taste of The Birds in situ, but without the big boom.

Mary is the auto maven in our household, which has something to do with the fact that she'd built her first car from junkyard parts, starting at age 15 and finishing at age 16. She grew up in southern California, and an outlay of $400 and many hours of work produced a metallic green VW Beetle she named Uriah the Heap. In contrast I lived on the New York City and then the Boston subways, not getting my driver's license until I was 31 and not owning a motor vehicle until I was 44.

I asked her, "Should I drain my tank down a bit?" I offered the analogy of a condom: one must leave room at the tip for ejaculate so the latex doesn't break. Does one need to leave room at the tip of a gas tank to accommodate any fume build-up, especially if one is driving and the engine gets hot?

She thought it was an interesting analogy.

In the end we decided to check the garage after a few hours, in case of any fume build-up, and to back the car out onto the driveway if there was. (There wasn't.) I was thankful we had a cool, crisp day when this happened. The temperature was 82 degrees, which over here constitutes a cold snap.

Meanwhile, my villain finally met her demise this morning, which means I have a couple of characters I've got to pick up off the floor.

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Love Is In The Air!

... and on the walls, the windows, the car windshields and radiator grilles, the strap of my tote bag, my leg....

When I got home from my errands Mary was sitting on the couch. I called over to her, "I just made my first sex video!"

She deadpanned, "And you're proud about that."

"Yep!"

"Which insect?"

"It's September," I said. "Which insect do you think?"

She sang, "Loooooooooove Buuuuuuugs!" (to the tune of the theme from "Love Boat").

I adore these little guys. Most folks think they're pests, but I tip my hat to these flies. They swarm in May and September -- our May swarm was minimal and our September swarm started late, but the lovebugs are now out in full makin' whoopie mode. The top shot above comes from the wall outside our local bank. I took the bottom shot of another happy couple's underside at the post office.

Genus Plecia (Lovebugs) , Family Bibionidae (March Flies). There are two North American species P. americana and P. nearctica. Based on this University of Florida page, I'm guessing this is nearctica.

The larger of the two (and the one with the smaller head) is the female. Whether flying or walking, she drags the male behind her wherever they go while they're connected. One couple performed some real heroics as I drove to teach my class on Saturday. The female was holding onto my windshield for dear life, while the male was being buffeted every which way, and still they stayed together! I was watching the road, slowing down as much as I dared, relieved when I finally came to a stoplight. After a few moments she had enough strength to fly off, with him still attached, and I sent up a little cheer.

Love Is In The Air!: The Sex Video (1:10)



There's no stoppin' the ladies -- they've got things to do, places to go, bugs to see. If anyone out there thinks his or her partner seems distracted during sex, just look at these intrepid souls. I feel bad whenever I see one hangin' out all alone.

Meanwhile, back at the retention pond, two butterflies zip about each other before flitting across the street.

Butterfly Play (00:16)



They were too distant for me to figure out what species they are, but I could see black and yellow markings -- so I suspect they're either Eastern Tiger Swallowtails or Giant Swallowtails.

Cloud Layers (1:07)



This video was Mary's suggestion, and that's her voice commenting to a neighbor on what I'm doing.

I weed-whacked this morning -- after Mary had gone through the yard and ripped out what she calls "Grab Grass."



Each of these tenacious, painful burrs is about 5mm in diameter. Before this plant seeds it looks like ordinary grass. This is the reason why I wear long pants when I weed whack regardless of how hot the temperature is. Shortly after we moved here I wore shorts while weed-whacking and drove one of the burrs into my leg. I felt for sure I'd been stung by a wasp.

I'm guessing this is a Southern Sandspur (Cenchrus echinatus L.) in the Gramineae (Poaceae) or Grass Family. According to the University of Florida, the other sandspur that occurs in the southeastern U.S. is the Coast Sandspur. The seedheads of that one occur all year, unlike the specimen shown here.



This lizard was relaxing in the chainlink fence by a fairly new housing complex I pass on my post office walk. It is probably a brown anole (Anolis sagrei, Family Polychrotidae). Brown anoles came to Florida from the Caribbean and are an invader species.

According to the Institute for Biological Invasions, the brown anole "colonized south Florida and Mexico about 50-60 years ago, and more recently, Hawaii.... This species is arguably the most abundant terrestrial vertebrate in peninsular Florida, and often reaches densities of more than one individual per square meter in disturbed habitats!"

Unfortunately, this lizard "is thought to be responsible for a dramatic decline of previously stable urban and rural populations of the green anole, the only anole native to the United States."

The moths were out in force during my post office walk the other day, hanging out at the strip mall.



I suspect this is either an Assembly (Samea ecclisialis) or Waterlettuce (Samea multiplicalis) moth. Whatever the species, I think I also photographed one or the other here, back in December 2005.



Hawaiian Beet Webworm Moth. Spoladea recurvalis, Family Crambidae (Crambid Snout Moths). This is also called the Spinach Moth in Namibia, Africa. "Common in the south; uncommon late summer migrant in the northern states, Canada, and Europe," according to Bugguide.Net. The markings on this thing make me think of a cow.



Small Mocis Moth. Mocis latipes, Family Erebidae. According to Bugguide.Net, this moth ranges from southern Ontario and Quebec to Florida, west to Arizona, north to Minnesota; and also occurs through Central and South America. Adults fly June to October and frequent fields, grasslands, gardens, open areas -- and apparently the mall. The larvae, called the Striped Grass Looper, feed on grasses, including rice and corn; also beans and turnip.



I'm guessing this is Diogmites esuriens, Family Asilidae (Robber Flies) based on the thorax detail. These are also known as "hanging flies" due to their characteristic habit of dangling by their front pair of legs when feeding.

A good guide is at Random Natural Acts. This page shows the difference between the esuriens and misellus species.



Gray Wall Spider (Menemerus bivittatus, Family Salticidae (Jumping Spiders)) with prey. This little one was outside the entrance to the supermarket. Food for all! This is the same species shown and described in this entry.

Yesterday marked my 57th consecutive day of adding to the draft of Book #4. I'm spiraling in toward the climax in this next-to-last chapter, and I think I finally figured out (while lying in bed after this morning's weed-whacking) how to move all the props into place the way I want them.

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Little Ox

I thought this was a stag beetle at first, given the horns. And it belongs to the same superfamily as a stag beetle. But it's in the scarab family, the subfamily of rhinocerous beetles, and the genus of ox beetles. And to make things more interesting, this particular species has "major" and "minor" males....

Strategus aloeus, Family Scarabaeidae (Scarab Beetles). Mary and I found this one moseying down the street around 7 PM on Monday. We coaxed him onto a manila envelope and took him out of squish range onto a neighbor's driveway. After the photo shoot, Mary set him down on a lawn. We spent some time trying to remember what direction he was headed when we'd first scooped him up.

This little one measured about 35mm. He's a bit small for his species, which ranges from 30 to 60mm. When I got a little too close for his comfort, he pulled his head into his shell, much the way a turtle does.



According to Bugguide.Net, the males of this species come in "major" and "minor" varieties. The major male has two large posterior horns, while the minor male's horns are stubby. The female has no horns at all. This species of ox beetle (one of five US species of the genus Strategus) ranges from Arizona into southeastern United States and southward into South America.

The Beetle Experience adds that an adult lives for approximately four months after spending about a year as a grub. This is a fruit-eating beetle and one of the most widespread of the ox beetles in the United States. "Females will lay their eggs in substrates ranging anywhere from middle-decayed wood, to flake soil. Adding crushed leaves to the substrate will often help egg production."

More details can be seen in the large views of the side and front view shots, shown in these links both with and without flash (click the magnifying glass).

I've been continuing with the next-to-last chapter of Book #4, having now done 52 consecutive days (and 66,978 words) of writing. Yesterday's work was quite low on word count (80) but was devoted mainly to review and tweaking, and puzzling out in my journal how I wanted to transition from the beginning part of the chapter to the climax. Before I started figuring that out I spent three days drafting the last part of the chapter, which I could better envision because I'd had it playing in my head for a while.

My journal scribbling and today's writing have given me better insights into a character whom I originally intended to have die early in Book #5. Now I realize that he has to live a little longer because he has more to contribute to the drama. (I'm enjoying getting to know him better, too -- and I suspect I'll be giving him more airtime earlier in #4 as I redraft.)

On the other hand, one of the characters I originally thought would die at the end of Book #3 has fulfilled his role in #4 and has made his exit into the afterlife after a proper, let's say partial, redemption. (I spent three days writing his big scene, which involved my being headphoned into Sergei Rachmaninoff's tone poem "Isle of the Dead" set on auto repeat ad infinitum. Talk about your fugue states....)

Now I get to return to my villain's point of view, after she's done her major damage and before she meets her own end.

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Soap Bubbles and Bramble Berry

Thanks to seeing my photograph "Soap Bubbles" on Flickr, the folks at Brambleberry.Com asked to use the image for their Liquid Soap Bases section. Up top is a shot of their website on my computer screen. A close-up is at the bottom. More detail is in the large view (click on the magnifying glass) -- or go directly to Brambleberry.Com.

From their website: "Bramble Berry Soap Making Supplies offers an extensive selection of soapmaking products for everyone from the weekend hobbyist up to high-volume professional soapers. Our entire line of soap making supplies is hand-picked for quality and value and fragrance oils are tested in both cold process and melt and pour recipes before they receive a Bramble Berry label."

Needless to say, I'm thrilled they liked the shot!

[end of entry]

Homing In

Mary and I had just left the supermarket when we spotted a pigeon sitting calmly outside the door to Cellular Revolution. The sight struck me for two reasons. One, because the pigeon didn't move at our approach -- and two, because in our 3-1/2 plus years here, we have not once seen a pigeon in this town until now....

At first I thought it might be sick. I'm not used to pigeons staying put at the approach of a human being. I was ready to simply leave it alone and walk off.

"I can think of a good reason to take a picture of it," Mary said.

"What's that?"

"West Nile."

She had a point. If we were looking at a sick bird, then county animal control should know about it: what, where, and when. I got out my camera and snapped a few shots, using a flashlight to provide enough illumination so that I could focus.



The pigeon stood and left a deposit on the cement walk.



Mary said, "It's banded."

Sure enough.

I sidled a little closer, took a few more shots.



Mary said, "I'm going to get it some whole wheat bread. It might be hungry."

I debated going to the store with her but then decided to keep the bird company. If anyone came along to bully it I was ready to run interference.

It had been raining. We were underneath an awning, standing on dry ground. Maybe the pigeon was taking a break after flying through inclement weather.

The bird and I pretty much kept an eye on each other. In my head I named it Walter, because I think of all such birds as Walter Pigeon. I wondered whom it belonged to. I wondered whether its owner worried about it and was wondering where it was, even though it was probably a homing pigeon and should know its way around. I wondered if it was on a special diet and shouldn't eat whole wheat bread. My mind played a recording of Tom Lehrer's "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park."

Mary returned with the newly-bought loaf of whole wheat bread. "I remembered what else we had to get," she said, holding up the bag. "Eggs."

Walter flapped a couple of steps away when she squatted down to leave a slice. She ultimately left two slices, the second one further away from the parking lot. Walter spent some time inspecting his/her reflection in Cellular Revolution's door, then faced us again. The bread remained untouched. We took off for home.

"Maybe I should have crumbled it," Mary said.

I told her I'd often seen pigeons clustered around full slices of bread on the sidewalk, picking it to pieces. But those were the non-banded kind. Untrained and unmannerly.

She added, "Maybe it isn't hungry. Or it eats only back at the cote."

I nodded. I liked the idea of pigeons being trained not to accept food from strangers. Plus, this one probably smelled our cats on us.



"Steve Ferreria, a Hillsborough County sheriff's deputy, wasn't even a teenager when he got hooked on homing pigeons," writes Jackie Ripley in the St. Petersburg Times article, "Thoroughbred Fliers." "That early infatuation has blossomed into a lifelong love affair and a place among Tampa Bay's subculture of pigeon fliers."

Ripley continues, "To some, pigeons are little more than nuisance birds. But that's far from the truth for homing pigeons, which bear only a passing resemblance to their urban cousins, forced to scrounge for their daily bread. Racers have been bred for speed. Their feathers are silkier and their breasts more bulging than regular street pigeons. They're also smarter and hardier than the typical street pigeon. These are pampered animals that routinely get vaccinations, vitamins and tender, loving care."

Judging from a read of Ripley's article dated December 4, 2005, "Walter" is a young pigeon taking a breather in the middle of a race. Young because September to December marks the "young bird" series of races. That would make "Walter" less than a year old, participating in a race covering no more than 300 miles and flying about 50 miles an hour in a competitive field of 2,000 birds. In addition to racing each other, the birds are up against hazards and predators ranging from power transmission lines to hawks. Given the risks of the race, their owners don't name them.

Ripley writes, "Pasco and Hernando counties, though, are the area's hot spots for pigeon activity. Fliers are drawn there by the weather and the competition. In fact, Spring Hill is home to at least 50 owners of some of the nation's most competitive birds."

According to Mapquest, Spring Hill is 30 miles away from us in the next county over, a straight shot south as the pigeon flies. I like to think we may have had a budding avian celebrity in our midst. One resting, perhaps, but still very much in the race.

Straight on till or before morning, Walter.

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Oh Thank Goodness, It's An Earthquake

From Tampabay.com: "A 6.0 magnitude earthquake occurred in the Gulf of Mexico shortly before 11 a.m. Sunday, according to the U.S. Geological Survey. Some residents in the Tampa Bay region have reported feeling buildings vibrate as a result."

Along with at least one resident a good 80 miles north of Tampa, who was highly relieved to realize those shudders were not from a giant sinkhole opening up under the house....

I was sitting on the Florida room couch, channel-surfing, when I felt our solid, cinderblock house shake. Our small set of chimes rang against the lamp where they were hanging.

I listened for trucks on the road, heard none. The shaking lasted only a few seconds, then stopped. I settled back. Then, a few seconds later, it happened again.

"The earthquake was centered about 260 miles west-southwest of the Tampa Bay region, directly west of Fort Myers, according to the U.S. Geological Survey website," continues Tampabay.com. The article quotes a USGS official, who said it was "felt widely throughout Florida and in parts of Georgia and Alabama."

I didn't know about the quake until about 8:30 tonight, when I took a break from the studio and shuffled into the Florida room. Mary, who'd slept through the shaking this morning, had the TV tuned to Bay News 9 with the sound off. I turned the sound on and heard the newscaster say the words "Tampa Bay" and "earthquake".

And I immediately felt much better.

This isn't the first time I've been relieved to learn I've been in an earthquake -- and I've experienced them now in four states. The first time I was in San Francisco, feeling a pier rock beneath my feet with greater force than one would normally expect from a pier. Yet that quake, occurring in earthquake-prone California, was for me the mildest of the lot.

On Staten Island, New York, in the early 80s, I experienced a quake powerful enough to knock cassette tapes off a shelf.

In Cambridge, Massachusetts, the brick house whose top floor I rented shook as a matter of course. Large trucks drove by where I lived, and the house shook during their passage. It also shook whenever giant plows dumped snow in the large industrial parking lot next door.

But this was different. The house shook ... and kept shaking ... and kept shaking. Books fell off shelves. I didn't see or hear any trucks. It was the wrong season for snowplows.

I turned on the radio, which was blaring a Boston Celtics game, and heard the sports announcer say, sounding incredulous, "All the bleachers in the Boston Garden have just -- swayed."

And I said, "Oh, thank goodness! It isn't the boiler about to blow up!"

So now, added to California, New York, and Massachusetts, I've experienced my first Florida earthquake. Cool.


Female mournful sphinx moth.

Mary and I had been taking our evening "post office walk" on Friday when I spotted this one on the strip mall overhang at close to 10 PM. Back in December I'd photographed a male mournful sphinx. This is my first view of a female.

"I know it's a sphinx moth," I told Mary, "but I don't think it's one I've seen before." Well, I'd seen this particular species but not this particular gender.


Male mournful sphinx moth, photographed in December.

According to Bugguide.Net, the Mournful Sphinx ranges from southern North America into the neotropics and its habitat is "presumably" forest edges. It spends its season all year in the tropics, August-November northward. "Larvae feed on grape family plants, Vitus, Ampelopsis, and Cissus species (Moths of North America). Pupation occurs in a shallow burrow in the soil. Adults fly during the day, and apparently at night, because they are attracted to lights. Flies in cold weather (pers. obs. P. Coin). Seems to be found in the coastal plain, and in particular, the outer coastal plain and barrier islands."

I'm in the home stretch of Book #4, with its climactic showdown in my sights, but juggling two main dramatic threads gives me a bit of a challenge with respect to timing. For that reason I'm rethinking the ending of the second thread, whose main function is to be a counterweight to the first. I've got a journal scribbling session ahead of me, where I'll flowchart things out.

It wouldn't be the first time I've made last-minute course corrections. One of the current book's protagonists fought me tooth and nail for his life through the entire last half of Book #3. I'm glad I let him win -- though, man, he's gonna be hurtin' pretty soon, and hurtin' bad.

Now up to 43 consecutive days of writing, during which time I've drafted almost as much as I had over the previous 15 months.

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100,000 and counting

Sunset moon on the night of August 29, 2006. Slightly contrast-enhanced.

Fueled by the music of Sergei Rachmaninoff and Jean-Luc Ponty, with some help from Frederick Delius and Claude Debussy. Sustained by coffee and peanuts, salad and crispbread, yogurt with honey, canned tuna. Bolstered by notes scribbled between meetings, on waking, and in the middle of the night....

Over the past week my manuscript for Book #4 in a series has topped 100,000 words, with 45,000+ added over the past 36 consecutive days of writing. I'm now well entrenched in the final third of the story. Granted, it's a first draft and subject to considerable tweaking, but the 100,000-word mark is a milestone. The first three books in the series have come to approximately 86,000 words for each of the first two (the first a little less, the second a little more) and a shade over 115,000 words for the third. Dancing With the Muse continues with my daily "reporting in" and writing tidbits.

Our hurricane shutters are up -- those that we want to be up at this point. Others are in the garage, ready to be slipped into place in case anything comes this way. The ones over the bedroom windows have had the effect of making me think I've awakened considerably earlier than I actually have.


Sunset, as-is out of the camera except for cropping. The moon is to the left, out of frame.

It's time for me to order more Maja soap, especially since they have a sale on. Maja is a touch of luxury in our fairly no-frills household. And -- I hasten to add -- it isn't for just the humans, as "Better Than Catnip" (1:59) shows. Our cat Red adores the stuff. He'd lick the bar if we let him, so we compromise by letting him lick the wrapper.



His buddy Daisy has been holding her own, ever since her diagnosis with progressive renal failure. She's had some off days, but most of the time she's remained active and happy. We've been told this condition can last for years. We continue to keep an eye on her and try to keep her comfort level as high as we can.

On Friday I spotted a Palamedes Swallowtail nectaring on lantana after the meeting of my critique group. It held fairly still, compared with the one I'd photographed in April. This is the same library where I'd seen a pipevine swallowtail before our previous meeting two weeks earlier.


More detail is in the large view (click the magnifying glass).

Papilio palamedes, Family Papilionidae. Renamed Pterourus palamedes as of 2005 (source cited by Bugguide.Net: Marc C. Minno, Jerry F. Butler, and Donald W. Hall, Florida Butterfly Caterpillars And Their Host Plants, University Press Florida, 2005). Ranges through the southeastern United States, extending into central Mexico. Its season spans from March through December in the northern part of that range (2 flights), with a third flight in the southern part of its US range.

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