My Name Is Jonas, I’m Carrying the Whale: Liveblogging an Existential Crisis Induced By Urban Wildlife

9:53 AM: We’re off to Cabela’s in the hinterlands of St. Charles County. The store is the pride of America (and a great stock to buy), so I’m hopeful of success in finding a means of eliminating Jonas the Giant Groundhog.

Jonas in Action

10:45: Cabela’s has failed us. However, Cassel-fashion has found a nice pair of Carhartts. And a bear. Ideu:
11:14: Distracted by shiny things in Circuit City. 100 CD-Rs for $12? Yes please. Nikon D40 for $599? Mmmhmm.

11:20: Determined to stay focused, Elissa calls Home Depot on St. Charles Rock Road. The woman who answers says that Home Depot does indeed carry traps, but her boyfriend is on the way to Cabela’s for the same purpose. Elissa bitterly tells her not to bother.

11:35: I almost plow in to the F-250 in front of me rubbernecking the Sprewells and lifts on the car in Jiffy Lube.
11:41: Trap found. Also, poison. Jonas will never withstand the double whammy.
Lovely Face
11:53: Guitar World. Fender makes crappy-sounding banjos. Cassel-lachia moves on.

12:35 PM: The trap is assembled and first sprung. Whittier may fall the first victim if she’s not careful. As if.


12:56: The trap is set. Our “neighbors” in an Audi A8 hand me a Jehovah’s Witness tract. I fail to come up with a Prince reference before the conversation ends. Get on the boat, people!

2:17: We eat curry noodles for lunch. Jonas does not eat his fruit salad.

5:12: There’s a creature in the trap! Unfortunately, it is a smaller rodent than we hoped: a squirrel. Damn. We reset and try again.

6:29: We dash out for a quick trip to inject insulin in the diabetic cat we’ve been feeding. Still no groundhog upon our return.

7:18: We begin grilling our dinner of beer brats and corn on the cob. Jonas’s fruit salad remains untouched, but the cooling temperatures mean that he may be emerging soon.

9:03: Darkness has fallen and so have our hopes. Groundhogs’ other ‘active’ time is the early morning, however, so there’s still a chance that Cassel-catcher will get to meet Jonas before he heads back to Oklahoma.

8:56 AM, Sunday: Nope. Cassel-bartian returns from whence he came. We wait for church.

2:10 PM: I am Ahab. Where is my whale?

3:00: Mexico-Paraguay is about to kick off. Let’s hope Rocque Santa Cruz + co. put just as much of a beatdown on El Tri as they did on our Yanks.
Also, the trap is still empty. It’s kinda hard to take an exciting picture of that.

11:37 PM: Jonas is proving more elusive as hunted than as a spectacle. In an attempt to appeal to his Italian side (from the mom, you know), I’ve dropped a tomato into the cage after cutting it open using some of the glass he dug up. How the bugger hasn’t cut himself yet, I do not know.
I’ve had several generous offers of firearms to dispatch this matter with haste. We carry on unarmed save our hope.

10:23 PM, Monday: I’ve had no resolution, and neither will you, forlorn reader. Twice more hath the dimwitted squirrel been caught, none more doth the thrice-cursed Jonas shew his nappy head. We soldier on, waiting.

11:32 PM, Wednesday, July 18: Boris, a bigger, smellier version of Maud, has temporarily settled in the trap. It takes some firm coaxing, but he finally scuttles out of the trap and into Jonas’ hole. Gross.

1:41 PM, Thursday, July 19: Triumph!

He's Caught in a Cage

July 7th, 2007 | St. Louis, Unbelievable | 1 comment

Square One for Adults

Remember Square One from the 80s on PBS? What a great show. The Pac-Man parody Macman, and Springsteen rip-off songs with the F Street Band about fractions, all wrapped up with a session on vulgar primes.

Totally didn’t mean to talk about that. Now you know where my fascination with prime numbers began. However, none of the numbers we will discuss next are prime.

38 out of 62 beers. That’s my scoreline from Saturday afternoon’s pilgrimage to the St. Louis Heritage Brewer’s Festival.

Apparently, in 1806 (one hundred years before our house way built, and two hundred years before we moved into it), some immigrants got themselves some dark malts and mixed St. Louis Dark Lager, which was theinaugural brew of the city and the special beer of the festival. Time’s march turned this strong, proud history into a weak tale, tinged uncomfortably yellow and insipidly tasteless.

Thankfully, we’re getting back to our roots, and the festival showcased six breweries boasting a combined total of 62 different beers tastefully arranged into two tents sorted by style. Yes, style. And for a bunch of white beer geeks and their assorted hotties tromping down the straw pathways between tents on a Saturday afternoon in sandals, this was actually a stylish event.

Augusta Brewery from some small town in Missouri, and Square One Brewery from the heart of St. Louis in Lafayette Square, not coincidental sharing common a common owner (who came out from behind one of the taps and introduced himself to us), won over our group with their expert execution of a wide range of educated styles. I tasted 38 different beers, which topped our group. However, thanks to a strict training regime I had followed in preparation for this event, I remained upright and ambulatory the entire time. No substitute for hard work and visualization combined with natural talent.

May 16th, 2007 | Beer, St. Louis | No comments