Hope reigns, America. No longer must we suffer the indignity and injustice of watching stinking squirrels slug down precious bird seed day-after-day while our little, winged tweeters starve. We have an answer -- one that doesn't require a greased pole, sliding pole, fall-away perches, or tipping domes. It'll work with the cheapest feeder you have.

Red Hots! Get Your Red Hots!

The idea is brilliant in its simplicity. Don't waste time and money keeping squirrels away from the feeder. Instead, give them seed they'll only eat once! Now, thanks to the fine people at Cole's, we have just the seed we need!

Cole's just sent me two bags of bird seed -- Cole's Hot Meats and Cole's Blazing Hot Blend. The first consists solely of sunflower meats, while the second is a blend of sunflower meats, black oil seed, millet, and cracked corn. What do these two products have in common? They're infused with habanero pepper oil. I can see little flames licking the bags right now!

I know what you're thinking. Won't habanero-infused seed burn the little birdies? The answer is no. For some strange, but marvelous reason, birds don't react to pepper at all. They can eat all the blazing hot seed they want without ever breaking a sweat (which is good, since they can't sweat, but you know what I mean). Squirrels, on the other hand, have sensitive lips, delicate tongues, and discriminating palates. They know when they've just swallowed fire.

Boy, is this going to be an exciting Thanksgiving at Grumpy's house for people and creatures one and all! First, we'll toast the holiday. Next, we'll toast the squirrels.

I'll fill that feeder with so much Hot Meats those little vermin will think they're the Pilgrims about to sit down with the Wampanoags. After all, that first Thanksgiving dinner was surprisingly spicy and I wouldn't want to break with tradition. Each squirrel will get a mouthful of seed and immediately combust. I'll bask in justification. As Pink Floyd sang in "Time," "it's good to warm my bones beside the fire."

Cole's products are sold in lots of pet stores, garden centers, and other places. Go to their website and locate a retailer near you. Trust me, using this stuff will be the most fun thing you've had since watching moths ignite in the bug-zapper.

Have nasty rats and mice invaded your home? Do squirrels scamper through your attic? Have you called the exterminator over and over again only to have the problem return? Well, finally there's an answer -- a product guaranteed to rid your home of rodents forever.

That's right. Fresh Cat! The only all-natural rodent repellent made from 100% powdered housecats! One whiff of this and rats will scat and mice will think twice.

How does Fresh Cat work? Simple! Rodents just can't stand the smell of their arch-enemy, the common housecat. So we've created a cat-based product that smells just like the real thing because it is the real thing. Housecats, pure and natural. No additives, no preservatives, no worries.

How is Fresh Cat made? Let's just say we start with USDA Prime Grade A free-range housecats. We get them from shelters, people with too many cats, you know -- friendly folks just like you. The cats go through a 4-stage process that begins, appropriately enough, with a CAT scan. We then remove the brain and spinal cord to prevent any danger of mad cat disease. After several hours in a state-of-the-art feline dehydrator called the Cat-a-comb, the cats go into a special grinder called "Catsup", which reduces them to a fragrant powder that fills plastic mesh bags. Fresh Cat is ready to use!

Just two 4-ounce bags of Fresh Cat repels rodents from an average room for up to 30 days. And while original Fresh Cat is a blend of several breeds, Premium Fresh Cat is available in Siamese, Persian, Burmese, and Russian Blue (new!).

Don't suffer rodent infestations any longer. Order Fresh Cat today! When it comes to chasing away rats and mice, it's the cat's meow!

Millions of people love dogs. The Grump does not. The Grump hates dogs and it's all your fault.

Well, it's not your fault if you don't own a dog. But if you do, you and it live in my cross-hairs. Because I won't have to wait long to be annoyed or disgusted.

Here are things dogs and their enabling owners do that tick me off.

1. Dogs lick. I don't care if they do it to be nice, dog slobber is gooey and gross and dog breath is invariably a hot breeze from hell.

2. Dogs eat anything and I mean ANYTHING. Even something that recently emerged from another dog. Think about that the next time you get licked.

3. Dogs bite. I'll never forget the time I was 4 years old and being pulled on a sled by my father when a mean dog from a house up the street saw me as fresh meat, burst through a storm door, ran out into the street, and bit me twice on the leg. I vowed never to go sledding again without a can of bear spray and a Tazer.

4. Dogs bark loudly, incessantly, and at nothing. I blame their thoughtless, cruel, oafish owners for this. Why wouldn't a big black Lab bark all day when he's penned up in a yard the size of a toaster for the weekend, while its owners are off skiing in Vail? Too many dog owners only care about the dog when they're around and forget about it when they're not. Total jerks, says the Grump.

5. Dog owners walk the dog for one reason only and it ain't exercise. They walk the dog so it will poop in someone else's yard. Oh, I'm wrong? Then why do they walk in the dark so that none of the neighbors can see them? Why do they carry 30-foot leashes so the dog can explore your yard for just the right spot? While I commend owners who clean up after their dog, the truth is, I'd rather you let your dog poop in your own yard. If this seems unreasonable, then you won't mind if my family comes over to use your toilet. FYI, we prefer two-ply.

Now you may ask, what does this doggy diatribe have to do with gardening? Well, dog offense affects my enjoyment of the garden. If I can't spend time in my garden without being assaulted by incessant, staccato barking from next door (don't dogs EVER get hoarse?), dog owners letting their pets pee on my petunias, or stepping in a load left by some cretinous canine, then I say, "Enough! Take your act to Vietnam, where everyone LOVES dogs."

Take Toto too.   

I first noticed our plight when I looked out the bus's side window and found myself eye-to-eye with a gopher. Immediately, two possibilities flashed into my mind. One, I had just discovered the world's tallest gopher. Or two, the window was just inches from the ground.

"Oh God, the bus has slid into the ditch!" a fellow writer bellowed. Aw nuts, I thought. Not only will this probably ruin the rest of the garden tour, but now I'll never be famous for finding that gopher.

I and a passel of other garden writers attending the Garden Writers Association(GWA) symposium in Raleigh, North Carolina, had boarded the bus at the crack of dawn to tour several gardens that featured "sustainable agriculture" -- which, to my dismay, meant no industrial pig farms (Has prejudice against gargantuan waste lagoons reared its ugly head here? Hey, pigs gotta poop too!) The tour organizers weren't exactly clear about where we were going. They just said "down east."

Why all the secrecy? I figured it's because the Air Force moved that alien spacecraft that crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947 to down east North Carolina and doesn't want anyone to know.

Heck, all they have to do is hide it in a waste lagoon. Who's gonna find it?

So anyway, we ride for well over an hour to a place where, as U2 says, the streets have no names, and pull up to the driveway of A.J. Bullard. Mr. Bullard grows all sorts of weird, exotic fruits like Chinese dates, Japanese raisins, Cornelian cherry, and other things you might consume if you were really, really hungry.

Now before I continue our thrilling tale, you must understand two things. One, our tour bus is roughly the size and weight of the Carnival Glory. Two, the driveway is unpaved, elevated, roughly 12 inches wider than the bus, and has 3-foot deep drainage ditches on each side. What an exciting experience we're about to have.

But no! Like that airline pilot who manged to safely crash-land his plane on the Hudson River, our driver makes it all the way up the drive to the parking area. We tour the farm, take pictures of some very strange plants, and then pile back in the bus to leave. We're behind schedule and need to step on it.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what our driver does. He attempts to negotiate a curve, and misses by six inches, and suddenly we all get that sinking feeling. And I'm eye-to-eye with that gopher.

The bus is listing to its side at roughly the same angle as the Titanic 20 minutes after it hit the iceberg. Fortunately for us, we aren't surrounded by 38-degree water, so we all jump out. Then the fun begins. All of the Northerners who've never seen fire ants immediately find the nearest mound and stand on it. A hopping good time for all!

Where are we? I have no idea. I only know there is no food, no drink, no bathrooms, no taxis, no shelter, and no traffic on the road that brought us here. There is, however, a chicken coop containing 5-6 very tasty-looking chickens. But they're on to us and scoot inside to safety whenever we approach. 

  Ummmm........tasty chickens. Come to Uncle Grumpy. Would like you like some Japanese raisins?

We hear there might be rescue bus on its way and, like the boats that heard the Titanic's mayday, it's gonna take way too much time. Then blessed are we! A huge honkin' tow truck owned by Oliver's Body Shop comes barreling down the driveway towards the bus. As soon as we read the address on the door, we know we're in good hands.

I mean, how can you not believe in a man from Thunder Swamp?

For the next two hours, the bus driver, a local farmer, and the Man from Thunder Swamp labor mightily to rescue the bus without flipping it completely on its side. As one attempt after another fails, I swear I can hear the faint strains of "Dueling Banjos" in the distance. At least, my name isn't Bobby.

In the meantime, former Southern Living colleague Lois Trigg Chaplin (below left) is having a good old time. She's an entomologist, see, and the thought of having to bed down in a cornfield for the night doesn't bother her at all. Why, that just means she'll be so much closer to those friendly, fascinating bugs and spiders! "If I could talk to the nematodes," she'd sing wistfully, "and they could talk to me!"

About three hours have now passed. I'm amazed that no one has made a dash for the bushes to relieve themselves. Garden writers have the most elastic bladders known to mankind. We pass the time trading our most awful travel experiences, like the time someone got thrown up on in during a 6-hour, excruciatingly hot bus ride in Sri Lanka and the vehicle was so crowded she couldn't even wipe off her face. No one here has thrown up yet, but for all I know, we could be in Sri Lanka. 

Then, the unbelievable happens. With one mighty yank and a great deal of prayer, the Thunder Swamp truck pulls our bus back onto the driveway, obliterating the road in the process.

We'll be going back to Raleigh right away, won't we? Well, no. You see, the concrete blocks the held in the edge of the dirt driveway were in turn held in place by iron stakes. The bus ran over the iron stakes and now has a flat tire. Of course. Did we expect anything else?

In its current condition, the bus can't travel on the highway. It can, however, limp along on the back roads to the local Wal-Mart, where we can wait for a relief bus and also tour its wonderful garden center and make use of its sparkling restrooms!

It's now about 2:30 PM and I have one desire in mind -- 24 ounces of liquid happiness. I buy a giant can of Bud. Then Alaska's Jeff Lowenfels (above) emerges from the store with a jar of Mt. Olive pickles. We pass it all around as Jeff tells me that Mt. Olive, where this Wal-Mart is located, is North Carolina's pickle capital. I did not know that. I am ashamed. I reach into the communal pickle jar for my third kosher dill, secure in the knowledge that no pathogen, not even Iranian president Mahmoud Rosenblatt, can survive in pickle brine. 

Finally, the rescue bus arrives. It is apparent as we board that many of us will survive this day. Taking my seat, I can't help but reflect on two bits of irony that that likely went unnoticed by most of our contingent. The first is a caution from Thunder Swamp's truck:

Hmmm...not much use hearing that after the disaster, is there? Kinda like saying, "If only I'd have put wings on the plane before we took off, this whole mess could have been avoided."

The second is the bus company logo printed prominently on the door:

  I'll take you there, all right. After that, you're on your own.

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Southern Living Has a New Look!

The October 2009 issue of Southern Living marks a milestone for the magazine. It has been totally redesigned for more visual impact and easier-to-find info. We've also added many new regular features, such as "Gardening 101," which is aimed at helping beginning gardeners. October's topic: "Rooting Roses." Click here to see a video featuring our Editor-in-Chief, Eleanor Griffin, and other staff members telling you about the changes. The Grump appears for about 6 seconds, but they're a really good 6 seconds.

The Grump is interested in your reaction to the changes, so feel free to email me and tell me and tell me what you think. All opinions, pro and con, are welcome. I seek only to learn and improve for you.

Feeling guilty about killing a plant? Play this video and feel better right away!

Yep, it's me! That's actually the way I look and sound. Now you know why my wife puts in her ear plugs and watches Netflix on her computer as soon as I walk in the door.

This video was actually shot as part of a bigger video to introduce Southern Living's new look that begins with the October issue. I'll post a link to that at the end of this. For that video, I talked for about an hour and they cut me to about 5 seconds. I guess that's all of me America can take.

You'll see a number of our other editors all dolled up and talking about the new look and content for their particular sections of Southern Living. Actually, getting made up for this was the most fun part. I mean, I'd almost forgotten how to put on mascara (those Alice Cooper concerts from high school still haunt me).

To prepare for my big moment, I go downstairs to the studio where they'll be filming us and get immediately introduced to this pretty, young makeup artist who's going to make me look presentable. She takes one look at me and asks, "Would you like some bangs?"

I think: "Like with a paddle? OK. I have been rather naughty lately."

But she's talking about my hair. So she puts some goop on it, fiddles around, and all of a sudden, I have bangs. Cool.

Next, she has to work on my face. That's like taming Andy Rooney's eyebrows. "I just need to even out your skin tones," she says.

"I have more than one skin tone?" I think. "It doesn't say that on my driver's license."

So she smears all this flesh-colored slush on my face that I suppose is actually made from real flesh (is that safe?). Then she brushes powder all over my forehead, nose, and cheeks to create the illusion that I'm either alive or dead. Don't know which.

Finally, she turns to my gorgeous blue eyes that take on this strange reddish cast every morning. She carefully traces eyeliner on the edges of my eyelids. "Whatever you do, don't look down," she says as she works. A tarantula must be crawling up my leg. She then  foofs this black stuff up and down on my eyelashes. Satisfied, she announces, "Now your eyes actually show up."

No wonder they called me "Squinty" as a kid.

Now I'm ready for my debut on camera. I sit down on a wooden stool, gaze at the camera, and try not to let on that the lights are searing my retinas. But the director quickly spots this. "Can you take off your glasses?" he asks. "They're reflecting into the camera."

I obsequiously obey.

Ever hear the expression "working blind?" Well, from that moment on, that was me. The camera, the director, and even the set were just a blur. I bet this is how Britney Spears sees the world every day.

So play the video, watch me blinking wildly as I try to focus on not only what I'm talking about, but where-the-hell-I-am. Then click on this link and see how many seconds they gave me on the official Southern Living video: Our New Look. 

You hate voles. You hate moles. You hate gophers too. And with good reason. They chew up your plants and burrow through your lawn. And there isn't much you can do to stop them. Until now. Play this video and you'll understand why that instead of getting mad, it's better to get even.

Did you notice the gleam of joy in Mr. Meyer's eyes as he talked of blowing these little critters into the Great Beyond? Admit it -- many of you feel just like him. Especially if you grow hostas, tulips, vegetables, perennials, and other plants that these stinking critters routinely gulp down without the slightest remorse.

Now the Grump admits this is an extreme solution and he is not recommending it to anyone. So don't blame me if you accidentally blow up your gas lines and your house. Or set fire to the woods or cause a 4.6 earthquake. Or if someone sneaks a video of you blasting away to Homeland Security and the Feds pay you a call. You have to decide just how much you loathe these varmints and to what lengths you'd go to in defense of your darling plants.

Mr. Meyer, you missed your calling. You should have starred in "Apocalypse Now." I can just see you surveying the land and uttering those immortal words: "I love the smell of propane in the morning."

The world doesn't know it's August. At least, not in Alabama. We had a very pleasant dinner out on the porch last night. This morning, the temperature is 58 degrees. What is wrong here?

This is August, the cruelest month of all. Eternal, infernal August, where plants and air conditioners go to die. August, where Satan and his minions spend forever in the hot tub.

And yet, this morning is crisp. When have you ever used the words "crisp, August morning" before? Maybe in Iceland. Not in Alabama.

I fear we are just now paying the price for all of those renewable, non-greenhouse gas producing vehicles people have been buying. We've unleashed a runaway train called global cooling. The next Ice Age is upon us.

I realize this view is not PC. According to all the experts, we're all going to burn up as the world gets hotter. But either way, the important point to keep in mind is that we're all doomed. I'm reminded of a poem called "Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Birmingham, Alabama. August 2019. Don't say I didn't warn you. Sweater and hot chocolate, anyone?

The vast Bering Sea. Over a million square miles of the most violent and unpredictable waters on Earth. And home to the deadliest kvetch -- the Grumpy Gardener.

After spending every waking minute pondering, agonizing over, and ultimately providing correct and brilliant answers to your questions, the Grump has grown even grumpier. He needs a break. So for the next two weeks,, he will be taking a much-deserved vacation with his family on an Alaskan cruise. But while Judy and Brian waste their time at the midnight buffet, heated pools, Broadway shows, and other such tripe, you will be heartened to know that the Grump will be engaged in a variety of very manly pursuits.

Specifically, I have hired one of the captains of my favorite TV show, "The Deadliest Catch," to take me aboard as a greenhorn deckhand. We'll brave 40-degree waters, towering waves, crippling ice, and me puking my guts out as we pursue Alaska's most elusive beast -- Sarah Palin's thought process.

 Ahh! Danosaurs!!

Internet connections up there are pretty shaky, so be patient if I don't answer your gardening questions until I return. If I can, I'll to try to post updates about my adventures. 

Oh yes, one last thing. If you hear about a man mysteriously disappearing overboard during a Holland America Alaskan cruise and his wife collecting on a million-dollar insurance policy, please alert the authorities.

P.S. In case you don't know what "kvetch" means, click here and you'll understand.

What are your limits when it comes to food? Is there anything you just won't eat?

The reason I'm asking is that mondo Southern Living garden photographer Ralph Anderson and I recently ate breakfast at the North Carolina State Farmer's Market in Raleigh. I had a garden omelet. Ralph ate brains and eggs.

That's right. Brains and eggs. Pig brains, to be exact. And that's where I draw the line.

I guess I could never be English, because I refuse to eat organ food. No kidneys, no pancreas, no liver, and especially no brains. They look nasty, they're not good for you (liver is full of toxins it filters out of whatever animal it came from), but most of all, eating them is just not right. 

I mean, how can you eat a pig's brain? That's what he used to recognize his mama. That's what he used to dream of freedom and justice. That's what he used when he became the first pig in history to decide the Earth was round, not flat, that U-2 is still the world's greatest band, and that a certain plant holds the cure for cancer -- right before he was slaughtered. 

Besides, brains and eggs look horrible on a plate. When the waitress set it down, the first thing I thought of was that my cat had just gotten sick.

So spare me the organ food, Ralph. Next time when we travel, we're gonna eat parts of animals that are meant to be consumed -- lips. snouts, jowls, tails, and feet.

Grumpians, everyone wants to do their part in helping to save the planet. That includes turning garden waste into compost to keep it out of landfills. But how do you know when the compost is ready to go into the garden? Play this informative video and find out! 

Well, I hope that answered all your questions.

On a related note note, Shelly from Buffalo, Wyoming writes: "Last year I had wonderful beets, carrots, onions, beans, zucs, and corn. My garden has not grown well this year. My husband added several bags of tree leaves to it this spring. I think it has too much acid, I don’t know what kind of leaves he used. How do I correct this?"

Grumpy replies: Greetings Shelly, oh ye of very cold winters and beautiful mountains.
 
The Grump has spent little time in your state, but what time he has, he has thoroughly enjoyed.
 
Good gardening in Wyoming, as it does in every state, starts with good soil. I think your soil is naturally alkaline, so I doubt adding a few bags of leaves to it would turn it acid. It might not cause any reaction at all. Essentially, what you have to do is build good soil and your plants should thrive. Work in as much organic matter -- chopped leaves, peat moss, composted manure, grass clippings, ground bark, and garden compost -- as you can. It's nearly impossible to add too much, so do this every year. Organic matter loosens soil, improves aeration and drainage, and stores and provides nutrients. It can also be quite tasty, as you've just seen.

Here's another fascinating question about enriching soil from Brandy in the Texas Hill Country:

"I have a circular area about 8 foot in diameter that I want to raise by tilling in additional native soil that I already have available and then adding 8 inches of organic compost. I would also like to add cottonseed meal, lava sand, and earthworm castings (at their recommended rates on pkg.) Is this too much organic fertilizer? I intend on seeding this bed with annual and perennial seeds that grow well in my area, then possibly adding one or two small perennials plants to the bed as well. My local nursery suggested using "Plant-tone" as an organic, all-purpose plant food. Is all of this too much??"

Grumpy repIies: think your plan is OK as long as you till in everything well. Plant-tone is a good, slow-release, organic fertilizer, as are cottonseed meal and worm castings. Lava sand, however, is not organic nor is it a fertilizer. It is at most a soil conditioner. Contrary to what some people in Texas claim, it is not a miracle additive, does not store or release any nutrients, and does not add any magical qualities to the soil. Those who claim it does are dealing in pseudoscience, the same kind of stuff you see in informercials on TV. Here's an interesting commentary on it:  http://froebuck.home.texas.net/toppage8.htm. I'm not saying don't use it. Just don't fall for the hype. Organic matter will do much more for your plants than lava sand.

....if there's a letter and an IV. I planted cactus around my mailbox. Now you look like a case of smallpox.

You'd better wait a minute, wait a minute, oh yeah.....

Grumpians, ever since I saw this scene across the street from my friend, Jeff, I couldn't wait to show you. Ever get mad when your National Geographic gets torn or you get all your neighbor's spanking magazines by mistake? (I hope it was a mistake.) This is how you get even.

Meet prickly pear cactus (Opuntia compressa), the most widespread cactus in America and as far as I know, also the cold-hardiest. It will grow in south Florida, west Texas, the Nevada desert, and even in Canada. I'll never forget the time I was touring the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum (a great place -- don't miss the chance to see it if you're visiting) in winter and spied plain, old prickly pear cactus peaking out from beneath the snow. 

Prickly pear gets its name from two features. The first is the tufts of barbed, hairlike spines, called glochids, that cover its flattened pads. Glochids detach on contact, remaining in your flesh to torture you as long as possible. The second is the pearlike, 2-inch long, edible fruits that turn reddish-purple when they ripen. Showy yellow flowers precede the "pears" in early summer. Flower buds are just forming on the plant above.

It wasn't until I carefully perused the Hispanic food section of our local Wal-Mart that I discovered that not only are the fruits consumed in Mexico, so are the pads. While I'm sure the pads are delicious, I prefer food that's as spineless as I am.

A lot of people plant prickly pear to add a "desert touch" to their garden for some unexplainable reason. Why stop there? Complete the picture with some big rocks,  a rusted out auto body, a couple of scorpions, and a "Next Gas 100 Miles" sign. 

Few plants are as easy to grow. All it needs is sun and well-drained soil -- either moist or dry. A clump can eventually grow 4 feet tall and twice as wide. Dual methods of reproduction are why it grows almost everywhere. One method is having seeds spread when animals eat the fruits. The other and more insidious method is vegetative. Every once in a while, a pad will break off, fall to the ground, and root. Or perhaps an animal will carry off a pad and drop it, where it will root. Either way, prickly pear quickly traverses the landscape. In many places, it's considered an invasive weed. 

If you have no need to punish your thoughtful, dedicated postal worker ("Neither rain or snow or wind or spines of prickly pear will keep us from our appointed rounds."), there is another good place to plant it, especially if break-ins have been a problem for you. Plant it under all of your windows. The Grump guarantees no one will enter your house that way again. 

I love my readers! Recently, in a comment on my recent post, "Great Small Tree for Your Yard", Vikki said she was thinking replacing a "coveted mimosa" with a Chinese fringetree. I replied that coveting mimosa was like coveting Camilla Parker-Bowles.

Well, today faithful Grumpian, Jean, called my attention to a fascinating story involving the Duchess of York. Apparently, Camilla was preparing to attend a funeral in East Sussex when nature called. So she popped into the Hare and Hounds pub in Framfield and asked to use the toilet. Extremely excited proprietors Razai and Chris Azerkane were flushed with joy and pride. In fact, the two are still in such a swirl, they're auctioning off the toilet seat! 

"Rarely has a toilet seat borne the weight of a nation more gracefully," proclaimed British foreign minster, John Loo. "This is a testimony not only to the seat, but to all the Bowles as well."

According to reports, the incident royally impressed the Queen. Her Higness now believes that in the course of time, the Duchess will be worthy to descend to the throne.  

You Ask, I Answer

OK, I know some of you feel cheated when you come to this site and all you find is stuff about Camilla, So here's a real gardening question about a mystery plant.

Hi Steve!

This is the mysterious plant I was given as a gift this week.  I am attaching two pictures of it--one from a distance and one close up.  If you tell me it is just a green plant that needs a little water and a little sun, I swear to you that I will cry. Lianne

 Lianne, I have conclusively identified the plant in the photo. It is named "houseplant."
 
Sorry, I was just being mean. Actually, what you have is a Chinese evergreen (Aglaonema modestum 'Silver Queen'). It is one of the easiest houseplants to grow, because it tolerates low indoor light and low humidity. The soil should be well-drained and moist, but never soggy. The one thing it doesn't like is temps below 50 degrees, which will cause brown spots on the leaves. If the plant ever gets too big, you can clip out the top of the central stalk and new growth will ensue.
Grumpy

That's a lesson I learned the hard way when I ran out of beer and hopped on my riding mower to go fetch some more. Please learn from my mistake. Click on the arrow.

Now I know what you're gonna say -- I should have knowed better than to drive down the road on a mower without proper tags and with an open container in my vee-HICK-el. But you don't live with my wife, Rhonda. When she wants a beer, you best get her one.

After the state took away my mower license and made me attend those riding mower safety classes, I can see the error of my ways. But shoot, after getting sprayed in the face by that officer, I'm happy to see just about anything.

Here are three lessons I learned from this that you can learn from too:

1. Don't drink and mow.

2. Know your rights.

3. Sometimes it's better to just get stabbed in the face.