Simplify, simplify, simplify!

Thoreau never had a cell phone, that's for sure. And a land line, and a T1 connection for his computer, which he also didn't have. Still, I'm taking his words to heart--in this case. I'm ignoring the bit about "beware any enterprise that requires new clothes" as Beloved Sister would probably not be happy if I showed up in sweatshirt and jeans to her wedding. "Who's the chippie in the sweatshirt? Is she the bride?" "No, the one in the big white dress is the bride."

Anyhow. I'm ditching the land line (not yet, Mom; I'll give you plenty of warning) and switching cell phone plans to the one that lets you talk for four hours for $29.99 rather than the one I have, which charges double that much for nothin'. And I've got a new cell phone coming at some point, thanks to Working Assets Wireless (yes, Dad, that hippy liberal commie pinko phone company) that will replace my two-ton dinosaur-fueled current cellblock. They say they're sending me a phone that takes pictures. Who'da thunkit? With the technology available nowadays, somebody really ought to make a new version of "King Kong". That would be cool.

I've also cleaned out my fridge and the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom, so I can tell if I have soap or not. Mom and Dad left me with the legacy of the 1970's in that I am always prepared for stagflation, invasion by Cuba, or nuclear war. I have so much backstock of everything from soap to water that the local Mormons are envious. (No joke. I have, like, *edible* stuff backstocked. Not mixes.) Chef Boy, not being much of a backstocker and not ever having lived with a chemical toilet in the pantry (the pantry built, by the way, especially to stock Perma-Pak dried foods and vacuum-packed wheat), is scared. I think he thinks I have a complex.

I planted basil seeds today in those little pop-up peat pots that come in 12, 24, or 36-pot sets. That'll save me from having to drive thirty minutes to find more than an ounce of one kind of basil for $6.99. This might not be considered *simplifying*, exactly, since I'll now have to take care of three different basil plants, but it'll save me some bucks. Plus, those little peat starter kits are just too damned cute.

So, if I head out next days off (in eight days) and get me one o' them mighty-fine rollup shades of shadecloth, I should be able to get a little container garden going on the porch. Believe me, with the money I spend on produce (the farmer's market guys smile when they see me coming), this is simplifying.

I wonder if I could grow melons on the third floor, or if that would constitute an unreasonable hazard to my downstairs neighbors.