Puerto Rico Aims to Trap Roaming Monkeys.

SAN JUAN, Puerto Rico - Authorities in Puerto Rico are using cages and mangoes to try to trap hundreds of marauding monkeys—descendants of escaped research animals—and hope to send them off to sanctuaries or labs, or to kill them

“When animals are released into the wild, we end up in a situation like this,” [a scientist being interviewed] said. “Now it’s too late. There’s not going to be a happy ending to this story.”

Grace Jonesin’

Moley, moley, moley.

Band-Aid Bandit Ordered to Give Up Booty.

With a headline like that, who even needs a story. Story about some bank robber, so called because he would put a band-aid over a distinctive mole on his face as a “disguise.” Not a very good story, actually. But a heckuvah headline, huh?

Pablo Picasso.

For J. Richman (and his modern lovers).
Back to the collage.

Names.

[[Liked this from Writers Almanac May 17, by Traci Dant]]


A Twice Named Family

I come
from a family
that twice names

its own.
One name
for the world.

One name
for home.
Lydi, Joely, Door,

Bud, Bobby, Bea,
Puddin, Cluster, Lindy,
Money, Duddy, Vess.

Yes,
we are
a two-named family

cause somebody
way back knew
you needed a name

to cook chitlins in.
A name
to put your feet up in.

A name
that couldn't be
fired.

A name
that couldn't be
denied a loan.

A name
that couldn't be
asked

to go
through anyone's
back door.

Somebody way back
knew we needed names
to be loved in.

A box is a box is a box.

Tonight had the interesting feeling of driving past West End Discount Liquors and seeing a fabulous cache of empty liquor boxes, and seeing them for the first time in ages just as empty boxes, not as some crazy golden house-moving asset that had to be scrambled for before being snatched up by other like-minded vultures.

Cardboard boxes in that context are one of the most perfectly self-recycling (dare I say sustainable?) objects that I know of anywhere. No sooner are they thrown outside their liquor-vending premises than some frantic house-moving person snaps them up, then either keeps them for another move or two (I actually still have some that I’ve kept since college), or likely passes them on to another house-moving friend.

hmmm.

Taking sanity to the cleaners.

[[This is an excerpt from an actual “news” item I saw today. This was not in The Onion or something, this is honestly an ongoing suit. I was fresh from opening the national wound that was Katrina by watching the first part of Spike Lee’s documentary When the Levees Broke, which only that served to further highlight the truly awesome stupidity of this.]]

Roy L. Pearson, a District of Columbia administrative law judge, first sued Custom Cleaners over a pair of pants that went missing two years ago. He was seeking about $65 million under the D.C. consumer protection act and almost $2 million in common law claims.