Move Over, Shirtless Running Guy!

I've been trying to get some new shots of Shirtless Running Guy for the spring season.  I think he's got new shorts and running shoes to show off.  Unfortunately, he's being elusive.  Nothing surprising, and I will prevail.

In the meantime, somebody new has emerged, piquing my interest.  It is Purple-Hooded-Cape Dude.  I have seen him walking down my street a total of three times now.  I have to say, for small-town Massachusetts, donning what appears to be a velvet purple hooded cape is making a pretty bold fashion statement.  Good for him (I'm pretty sure this person's male--if not, sorry lady, I thought I saw a beard).

Today he walked past my house and drove the dogs into a manic, foaming-at-the-mouth frenzy. Immediately I jumped into action.  With camera (well, actually phone, as my camera battery is deader than dead) in hand, I furtively moved through my back yard, pretending to search for dog bits to scoop.  He had stopped and was crouched, his back to me, searching through a bag in front of my neighbor's house.  I stood behind the cover our shed, peeking around the corner, waiting for him to be on his way so I could get a full shot of him in all his purple glory.  As he got up and headed off, I ran to the other side of the shed, rushing toward our fence and the mass of sharp brambles ensconcing it.  I got as close as possible, shoving my camera through the thicket while simultaneously shredding my arms (because shirt makers don't make sleeves long enough or I have freakishly long arms).  And all I got was this:

Curses!  A big, fat nothing.  Makes him all the more intriguing, no?  So now I have a new subject for my covert photography.  If you're from my town and know this mystery person, let me know.  I'll say hi and introduce myself.  Maybe he'll let me take a proper picture to post.  Otherwise, the pursuit
continues.

Nasty Stuff!

I have to warn all gentle readers that my post today is going to be gross.  Some may label the following as TMI, and with good reason,  but some things are too nasty to keep to one's self.  Best to get that out of the way right now rather than have folks ticked off at the stuff I am about to write.   

Onward.

You know that side of us we all have, the one where we are secretly (for me not so secret after writing today) intrigued by super-gross stuff?  Like how I couldn't stop scrutinizing the humongous hunk of earwax that unexpectedly fell from the depths of my ear canal the other night.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before.  Freak show stature.  And I have no idea where it came from (besides the vicinity of my inner ear).  Remember, I warned you.  Anyway, even if it is the remotest bit of our personalities, there is a bit of us that is attracted to the grotesque like moths to a porch light. 

So...now on to the true subject of today's musings.  We have had a big mystery going on in our house.  Our ski gear basket has had a funky odor emanating from it.  Looks pretty innocent, doesn't it?

The smell, which kept getting worse daily, was heinous.  I try to keep up on things, and believed the odor couldn't possibly be due to something slipping by me.  And so, every time Jay reached for a hat,  gloves, or anything else looming deep down in there, he would make a face like he was going to lose his lunch and exclaim with increasing vehemence, "SOMETHING DIED IN THERE!"  To which I would reply with equal gusto, "NO, THE SMELL IS BECAUSE YOU KEEP PUTTING WET STUFF IN THERE!"  Which even he could not dispute, because he is totally guilty of said act, as are our kids.  I thought I had found the culprit, a hat which reeked of the telltale odor: 
 

Alas, even after removing the hat, the smell remained.  

Finally, last night, our daughter, Janie, was getting ready for a soccer game and pulled from the basket her very well-hidden string bag: 

(I need to mention that this basket is deeeeep.)  Lo and behold, joy of joys, the gut-wrenching mystery odor bloomed to its full, head-on, knock-your-socks-off, beastly stench-of-all-stenches!    BUT!  The mystery was not completely solved, for, what was inside the string bag that caused it to erupt such a foul stink?  Aha!!  It was THIS:

Pretty.  Neoprene lunch bags may hold in liquids quite well, but grandly let polluted air escape.  The end of the mystery?  No, for the best was still to come.  Janie, with much repugnance thrust the lunch bag at me.  Gingerly, I unzipped the wretched thing, to discover THIS (hold on to your hats, and other things):

Ah, the culprit.  A liquefied one-time solid, festering in the dark, warm innards of many layers of synthetic fabrics.  I do believe it was once a sandwich.  And I know for a fact that it had been thriving in there since she brought the bag home from a day-long soccer reffing class which she attended back on February 16th.  That's a over a full month of break-down time.  Scrumptious. 

Mystery finally solved.  And it is not Jay's fault for dumping wet ski accessories, nor a dead something-or-other.  Simply the fact that our daughter refuses (like any teen kid) to empty her gear bags out at the end of the day.   

As for the gross factor, the liquid-filled baggie is up there on the "It's Like Watching a Train Wreck" list of stuff I have to take pictures of and marvel at (be happy I didn't take a pic of my ear wax clump).  And kudos to the makers of zip-lock bags.  If it weren't for them, this could have been a lot worse.


In memory of Dana Fields.  You touched our lives in so many lovely ways, you wonderful woman, you.