Sandy Hill Creative Disposal Project

While tootling along on my bike ride yesterday, I passed this place:

Sandy Hill Creative Disposal Project

The Sandy Hill Creative Disposal Project is on Old Laurel Bowie Road (still marked 197 on the sign near Hilltop Lane). The best part is the sign on the fence that reads, "No Dumping." The gate was closed and locked, so I couldn't go in and find out what the deal was. A little googling only provided me with concerns about the groundwater on-site. I found nothing about the history of the landfill or why it is "creative."

So I am left picturing big, hulking garbage men sitting at picnic tables adding a little cheer to the trash with glitter and glue sticks. I imagine they'll find plenty of milk cartons and popsicle sticks.

Best Video of the Day

A Million Monkeys Typing found it and I'm sharing it with you.

Blow Me Away

This was at William's, the new restaurant in Greenbelt.

What's Not to Hate About this Movie?

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen: Sequel CGI-fest about intergalactic robots who fight each other and can turn into motor vehicles. Oh, and there are humans wandering around.
Theater Location: Somewhere in North Carolina
Noise Level: Loud
The Skinny: American arrogance -- drop the military into any country you want without bothering to ask permission, blow up a few civilians, insist on holding onto something we can't protect when the robots could do a better job, and of course the standard aliens would want to deal with the US and nobody else... Oh, and this supposedly international military force (NEST) seems to have only American and British forces (these are the only flags shown) and when the US president tells the group to shut down there isn't a peep from the Brits or even a scene showing them being told the same by their leader -- why would they care about the directive of another country's commander-in-chief? Also, all of the women are either stupid (doped-up mother), aggressively conniving (not just the girl coming on to the hero, but also the girls in class faking attraction to the professor for grades), or an object. You know, if the hero's girlfriend used her supposed background in mechanics at some point, it might justify the human involvement in the whole thing. As it is, I don't see what the humans are adding to the fight between the robot aliens.

Guess that was kind of fat for a skinny.

Little People on the Street

After the art show, I'm giving up painting and I'm going to try this kind of art:

Click on the image to go to see the awesome work at Little People.

I, Robot

I haven't done this in a while. Looks like my full moniker is too long.

Artificial Biomechanical Being Optimized for Troubleshooting
Get Your Cyborg Name

Painting At the Beach

I got a chance to work a little on the painting that used to be Tobermory and is now from the Greenbelt Community Center. Can you tell what it is, yet?

The last time the in-law family vacation was in the Outer Banks, I painted, too.

Down the Ocean

There's a reason why the Wright brothers came to the Outer Banks. The wind was pretty strong in my face as I rode up to the end of the island. Magically, it turned around and blew in my face again on the way back!

Williamsburg by Bike

The Williamsburg Armory

Along the road from West Virginia to Corolla (North Carolina), I ran out of steam around 9:30. I pulled off at the next Hampton Inn happened to be at Williamsburg. My bike was strapped to the back of the car, so in the morning I took a quick ride.

a map

You might notice a little stick out to the left. I made a wrong turn there. But I did get to see the James River.

James River

I'm a Travelin' Man

So, today starts a long stretch of traveling for your good friend the Abbot. The fun finishes with 4 weeks back and forth to Topeka, starting in mid-July. In between, I'll be flying off to beautiful Nevada City, California, and driving down to the Outer Banks.

But today I'm starting by driving out to West Virginia. It's a Father's Day thing. While the Brunette has already accompanied her parents down to North Carolina for the exciting week-long family festival of fun, I'm going to visit with my father (and sister, brother-in-law, and nephew) in Charles Town, WV. None of them live in West Virginia. So why go all the way over there? Well, maybe in your family you celebrate holidays by hanging out by the fire and watching home movies; I don't know what normal people do.

We go to the track.

I suppose gambling is in our blood. Our Easter eggs contain lottery tickets (you think I'm going to get five adults out looking for eggs in the back yard with just candy?) Christmas Eve is poker night. And, this year, Father's Day is a trip to the casino/track in Charles Town.

They have a nice buffet. And you can bet on the horses right at the table. The best part: if there's ever an awkward pause in the conversation, you can always look over at the monitor on the table and say, "50-1? I'm getting me some of that action."

Happy Father's Day all you Dads out there.

Disappointment

I don't know, I thought somehow that Electric Avenue would be more impressive. In the event, it had neither the reggae vibe of Eddy Grant nor the luminescence of Disney's Electric Parade. It was just a tiny spur off of Elm Street.

intersection of Electric Avenue and Elm

It could be that this washed out feeling for Electric Avenue was due to the rain. The cool, steady rain was a nice start to this trip; however, just after I snapped this picture, the clouds got grumpy. I don't mind a little water, but lightning is a whole 'nother matter. Thunder and lightning chased me up the WB&A trail to the culvert under Rte 193. There was another biker already there, taking shelter at the other end of the culvert. He was so far away, we never spoke.

Bicyclist Takes Cover from the Rain

You can see that the electricity was not furnishing power to the lights in the culvert. Still-and-all, it was a nice place to stop.

The 15 minute or so stop for lightning gave me a false sense of the distance I traveled. I was disappointed when I came home and mapped the route on Google maps, finding my journey to just miss 19 miles. I guess I was moving pretty slowly. Can't blame it all on the sun, today, that's for sure, eh, Eddy?

Transportation

At first, the return to Metro-riding helped with the pumping out of book tales and other writing, but then we switched to nights/weekends and it's eating my brain. One of the many kinds of things I do for work -- there are so many kinds of things I do, I was going to write a nice post about how configuration managers fit into the agile world, but the role of a CMer is so broad and such a weird mix of technical and non-technical that first I'm going to have to write a post defining what a CMer is to me before I can get into the new world order, but there's that problem of my brain being eaten and here I am rambling in the middle of this completely unrelated post, so let's get back to that sentence that I hope you remember started way back when -- is help companies maintain/administer/upgrade ClearCase. This week we've been upgrading ClearCase from 2002.05 to 7.1, which involves a stop at 2003.06 on the way. When you're upgrading a source code control repository, the creators of source code (aka developers) don't like you doing it in the middle of the day. Hence the night and weekend work to upgrade over 150 repositories.

However, even if I haven't been able to think straight, I have been able to take some bike rides in the middle of the day, which is a nice thing. Yesterday, I braved the rain -- more of a Glasgow dreich and sloppy day than today's thunderboomers -- down to Hyattsville and back. From the Café, I took this picture of three different modes of transportation:

There's a big push to get some greenness out there and to start recognizing bicycling as a viable transportation option. However, it's obvious that the powers-that-be do not take the bicycle seriously. What other mode of transportation would they allow to have something like this blocking one of the major through-routes, and even if they did, there'd be signage for detours or earlier warning before you got there:

(There's a huge metal coupling the width of that sign.) The roads remain the only reliable option for commuting bicyclists.

Brightness Falls from the Air (James Tiptree, Jr)

I happened upon an imaginary protester as I was riding along Greenbelt Road the other day. He was wandering about in the wide shoulder/bike lane across from the Kmart. He smiled and waved at the passing cars, remembering every so often to hold up his sign. His smile seemed a bit manic, if you ask me, if not downright scary.

The sign read, "Put a STOP to homo-hegemonic, humano-expansionist, xeno-repressive, Terran-cultural-imperialist policies of the National Aeronautics and Space Agency." The "ist" of imperialist curled a bit up the side at the end of its line.

He also had a smaller sign that read only, "Thanks." But I never saw him use it.

"That's quite a mouth-full there," I said as I stopped to check my tires. Lately I've been stopping every block or so to make sure I am still adequately inflated. So far, so good. "I mean, I'm not sure that the cars are going slowly enough to read the whole thing."

He disagreed, of course. He wouldn't be worth his salt as a protester if he agreed with every Tom, Dick and Harry that stopped by at his protest zone. He pointed out that the light at NASA's entrance tended to slow drivers down. I countered that he was standing too far upstream to get the benefit of that. In the end, we took turns reading the sign out loud as cars approached and passed. He read with an unrealistic speed that made his disgruntlement with NASA sound like the whining of Alvin and the Chipmunks. I suppose I read slowly enough to make one wonder about my level of literacy, eyesight, or both.

In any case, his best effort got him to "xeno" and mine never got beyond "hegemonic." He threw down his sign and shook his fist at the shaking trees of the Goddard Space Flight Center. From the shoulder of Greenbelt Road, the space flight center is not impressive. There are no visible space-age superstructures. For the most part, the chain link fence seems to be guarding a deciduous preserve. During most of our conversation, in fact, a small rabbit observed our debate from the safety of the grounds.

I wonder if it had an opinion.

"What has got you so riled up anyway?" I asked the disheartened protester. He told me he had read this book that had convinced him that humanity had nothing good to bring to the cosmos and should keep its little feelers down here on Earth so the rest of the universe could go about its life in peace.

"That's some major hatin'," I said and asked him which book. He showed me a copy of Tiptree's novel, Brightness Falls from the Air. "The My Little Pony book!" I exclaimed. He looked at me like I was the crazy guy on the side of the road. "A major confrontation in that book hinges on the love of a girl for her horsie, don't you see? And there were all those butterflies and rainbows -- well, aurorae anyway."

My imaginary protester protested. He told me that the book was a grim reminder of the evil at the hearts of men. The book demonstrated the ongoing practice of humans to silence the other. Two separate races were subjugated by the human race -- one suffered complete xenocide because of human fear and the other was tortured because of human greed. He really seemed to think Tiptree was suggesting we don't belong out there.

"Well, I never 'othered' somebody," I told him. "Besides, the blurb says that the book is about hope. And, and, and those bugs got to be happy in the end, don't you know, getting to sell stuff and buy junk from catalogs."

My protester seemed to feel it was somewhat unlikely that a race tortured for profit would be thrilled to join our economic system just because they're wowed by some shiny Kmart circulars. He used the word "consumerism" as if it were a bad thing.

I shook my head. "I think you are overlooking the inherent goodness in the majority of humanity. Why, given half a chance, most people would open their arms and hug aliens tight to their ever-loving chests. People are basically nice." And so I wished him a good day and mounted my bike to ride off home. I felt like a shining example because I hadn't crushed him by explaining that GSFWC didn't seem to have a lot to do with manned missions.

And that's when a water bottle bounced off of my helmet. A passing driver shouted out, "Get a job!" and I rode into the grass at the side of the shoulder.

So that's why I'm here in the Kmart now, looking for a black marker and some poster board.

It's Not Easy Being Green

One thing I noticed on today's bike ride over to the path from Cherry Hill to University of Maryland (Paint Branch Trail) and the path back up Indian Creek was that there's a lot of water still laying about.

Much of the trail was also muddy. The riding under Route 1 is kinda scary actually.

The other thing I noticed were markers for the East Coast Greenway, which will some day be a 2500 mile traffic-free path linking East Coast cities from Maine to Florida, but for now is a mix of traffic-free paths and quieter roads.

When I got home, I went to look at the map for the Greenway in Maryland and found that it passes right in front of my house. It's sitting out there calling me. Surely it wouldn't be all that hard to take a ride up to Maine?

Deluge

Water gushing from a downspout in Beltway Plaza garage

We parked under the parking deck at Beltway Plaza to avoid getting wet in the sudden downpour this evening. As you can see from this picture, though, being undercover didn't really equal staying dry.

Not Again!

I took a little bike ride down to Rhode Island Reds for lunch. The lunch was nice. Unfortunately, when I came out of the cafe, I found my rear tire flat.

How many flats can I have in one year?

But thank goodness for the Metro bus system! I always carry my SmarTrip card, so I don't have to take exact change along. There's a bus stop right across the street from Rhode Island Reds. I wheeled my bike over there and saw this sign:

nextbus badge

What a cool idea! There's no schedule attached to these stops that are only marked by a pole. A number to find the next bus time and where it is going is a good thing. I like that the stop has its own little identifier, and calling in made it obvious why that was necessary. Unfortunately, the Next Bus system doesn't start working until July. But after ten minutes, I got to speak to an operator who tried to find my stop. Sadly, the existing system works by intersection. I was at the intersection of Armentrout Way and Route 1. But the road is actually called Charles Armentrout Way. The sign only shows the Ch part of Charles. And Route 1 has many names between DC and Baltimore. Just a few feet up the road, it's called Baltimore Avenue. But at this point, it's still called Rhode Island Avenue (hence the name of the restaurant, duh). So, it took us a little time to figure out where I was standing.

Still, the bus trundled up at the half-hour mark, just as she said it would. And since all Metro buses have bike racks, I could plop the bike on and ride up to the bike store. Proteus is on Route 1, but much farther up in northern College Park.

The guy at the shop showed me the cut in the tube caused by a piece of glass. Stupid drinkers. This time, he put in a thorn-proof liner and a thicker tube. The stem is a bit short, but I'm hoping this holds air for a little while.

After the shop I rode home through the agricultural research center, getting in 15 miles for the day. In very humid weather. Oi.

Round to Reds

I like to bike to get my exercise, but I'm not so good at motivating to get on the cycle without a goal. A destination always helps, especially if there's food involved. Today, I had only planned to ride in a big circle, but along the way I discovered a place that is going to become a regular goal:

Rhode Island Reds Café

This small place is on the Northwest Branch Trail where it crosses Route 1 (Rhode Island Red), just before it dumps into the Northeast Branch Trail. I had a delicious ham and cheese quiche and some roasted vegetables. The folks were friendly and it was an excellent point to take a break. Plus, they had wi-fi.

There was a definite European vibe going on and I enjoyed sitting at the window watching the train and cars go by.

Rhode Island Reds has a website that proclaims:

You know friends, I publicly proclaim that Rhode Island Reds Café is and will be the cleanest restaurant in a 5-mile radius and that our crayons are so superior to Franklins and 3 bros.& Chef Geoff’s Hanks Taverna. They shouldn’t even be allowed to call themselves crayons; they’re just these pathetic Chinese anemic colored wax sticks. They make me sick. I’ve got genuine Crayola, which are not really expensive, if you only make the slightest effort.

In addition to the quiche and breakfast-y stuff, the rest of the week they have sandwiches, subs, and pizza, along with some dinner items.

I probably won't take the long way around to Reds next time. I started out along 193 and then Metzerott to hit the Northwest Branch trail toward the north end. It's lovely and shaded up at the top end of the trail. This part reminds me most of parts of the Kelvin trail back in Glasgow. There are arched bridges

New Hampshire Avenue Bridge

and even fords! But this part of the trail is awfully muddy, too.

Ford on NE Branch Trail

Farther down near where Sligo joins the NW Branch, there's a quite a pile-up in the debris in the water at Ager Road. That looks unsafe to me, not to mention messy! a mess of debris

The Valve

My bicycle has Presta valves. Here's the end of one of them:

Presta Valve

Why do I have a picture of one of my Presta valves? Because it popped out of its casing today. This makes it awfully hard for air to stay in the tube.

Update: Well, I just screwed the valve back into the stem. I took a quick 20 mile ride (ha! ha! "quick", right) and it seems to be holding the air. We'll see if the tire's flat next time I go out and look.

Time's Up

Tomorrow is the last day of the Spring session at the Community Center, so we'll be locked out of the studio for two weeks, after which we'll be on the road to North Carolina and then to California. Not sure when the next time we'll get into the studio, but we'll be taking our stuff on the trip to the Outer Banks with the Brunette's family, so there might be a little more progress this summer.

At any rate, here's where we stand on the two paintings I started last week. The yellow painting now has some white on it:

Is the other picture starting to look more like Kansas to you?

Another Movie

Land of the Lost: Live action remake of the 70s television show by Sid & Marty Kroft.
Theater Location: Beltway Plaza
Noise Level: Too loud
The Skinny: Do I even have to tell you?

Another Song to Get Stuck in Your Head

The pictures are for those of us "of a certain age."

I admit I cannot name all the movies in this set.

You're welcome.

The Demon's Lexicon (Sarah Rees Brennan)

As I have assumed the position of Court Colonel -- none of the other members of the court seem to have minded, perhaps because I never told them/perhaps because there's no such thing as a Court Colonel -- I feel it is my duty to keep an eye on the goings-on in the vicinity of the superblock that forms our court of homes. I think it is particularly important to watch out for the imaginary kids who haunt the area.

Yesterday was a great example of the need for such vigilance. Two of the figments of my imagination were stalking the Square, a quadratic expanse of grass bounded by three of the co-operative's row-home courts. The smaller of the two boys was called Pratik. As usual, he wore a dark tie and khakis, but yesterday he also carried with him a backback and some sort of blossoms. The other boy was also once given a name, at least, I assume he was, but I have never been able to put my finger on it. He wore the more standard issue jeans and t-shirt. He carried some sort of digging implement, either a spade or a shovel. Who can tell the difference these days?

Our cat Tubby and I stood at the garden-side window watching for a bit, trying to figure out what they were up to, but the holly tree blocked my view. So I wandered out the door and down the walk to the edge of the Square. The two boys were playing with string. Pratik stood in the center of the Square holding one end of white twine while the other boy held it taut and walked widdershins around Pratik. He paused every step or so to drop a rock.

"What are you doing, young lads?" I asked cheerfully and calmly enough. The boys jumped anyway.

"Oh, it's only you." The boy who failed to have a name that I could remember picked up the rock that he had dropped outside the regular circle and placed it in its proper position. Pratik adjusted his glasses and tie in a single swipe.

"Well, we read this book..."

"I'm not surprised you read a book," I said after Pratik's voice trailed off. "You're always reading books. And look at what it gets you. Which book did you read this time?"

The boys looked at each other and then at the ground. They looked at the houses surrounding the Square. They looked at the sky and at the tree in the corner of the Square. In short, they looked everywhere but at me. That could only mean one thing.

"You read a YA book, didn't you?" They nodded somewhat sheepishly. They always make fun of me for reading the things. "I thought you were too mature for shiny vampires."

"There are no sparkling vampires in The Demon's Lexicon." Pratik stood a little straighter now that the truth was out. "There are only magicians and demons."

"And there's not much mushy stuff," the other put in.

"A little," Pratik admitted, blushing.

"But not so much as to make you gag your anything."

"So it's OK if it's a boy being all emo instead of a girl?" I asked.

"I assume that you refer to Nick," Pratik responded. "In point of fact, he is totally un-emotional."

"He is emo without emotions. The second half of that book was a roller-coaster hoot," I declared. "So are you two playing at being brothers then?"

They both laughed at me.

"We are preparing for the Dance." Pratik surveyed the circle of stones. I noticed that there were odd squiggles carved into the ground. "You may observe if you remain quiet."

"Do you think this is a good--"

"Sh."

"Demons are danger--"

"Sh."

I looked around for some iron. Or was that only for magicians? It seemed to me one of the lessons of the book was not to play around with this stuff. (The other lesson, of course, was that things are never so dire as to restrict one from making cheeky comments.) Pratik started playing his stomach like a drum. The kid with no name took a honeysuckle blossom and slurped its nectar. Then he started twitching around the circle. He tried at first to keep his hands still at his side like some pint-sized Lord of the Dance, but he was soon flailing about randomly.

"I don't think you're going to summon a demon by doing the Cabbage Patch," I commented.

"Sh!"

I waved my hands in acknowledgment of my transgression. The boys continued their "dance." Nothing happened for a while and I started wondering whether I had remembered to check the mail that day and if I'd made sure that Tubby hadn't gotten out of the house. Then the air around the circle started to shimmer. This was quickly followed by a shammer, a definite waviness, and finally by a sudden whirl of pollen and grass cuttings forming a cylinder around the boys.

I would have shouted, but the air was just as suddenly still and clear. I could see Pratik and his playmate standing still as statues inside their circle. They had been joined by the thing they had summoned. The three of us stared in astonished silence at the result of their incantations. It stood menacingly in the center of the circle. It had sharp teeth and claws and was covered with fur.

It was a squirrel.

"It's a squirrel," I said.

"Yes, imagine that," the squirrel demon replied. "And you're a human, I expect."

"And it talks!" I exclaimed.

"Is there someone smarter here I can speak with?" The squirrel looked up at the two boys. "I know a place that would take great care of your father."

"He's not our father."

"I only created them." I laughed at my own joke. As usual, I was the only person amused.

"It actually worked," Pratik said.

"Did you mean to get a squirrel?" I asked. "I mean, a beaver could at least make you a dam. What can a squirrel do for you?"

"I can tell stories," the squirrel said. "I'm known for my stories. Why, I used to keep Cat Woman in stitches for hours on end."

"The Cat Woman? You knew her?"

"Oh, we used to date, don't you know."

"You did not."

"Sure and we did. But I'm afraid I had to break her heart."

"You did not."

"Sure and I did. I couldn't take it any more, I tell you. One too many times she gave into that sudden and desperate need to be in another room. Zip! She'd be gone, right in the middle of a good story, too."

"You're making that up."

"She could sit and stare at a spot on the wall for hours, though. Hours." The squirrel shook his wee head. The tufts of fur at the ends of his ears waggled in the wind.

"Are you quite done?"

The squirrel assumed a wistful air. "Ah, but how she purred..."

"Oh, geez," I said.

"Don't mind him," Pratik soothed the squirrel. "He likes to be the only one who makes things up."

"You're also good at hiding stuff, I imagine," put in the other lad.

"Oh, yes. I'm a champion burrier. I can hide stuff from the best of 'em. Usually in a hole. I like holes." He looked at his paws bashfully. "Not so good at finding though."

"That's fine. I have something for you to hide." The boy whose name I cannot remember pulled out of his pocket the severed head of a Barbie doll. He handed it to the squirrel. "It's my sister's."

The squirrel turned the head about in his paws. "Hmm, about the size of a chestnut, I'd say. This'll be --"

The squirrel stopped speaking, stopped moving. His tail had gone straight and stiff and it's possible that his eyes bulged a bit. But then he opened his mouth to let loose a loud screech. He tried to run, but he was trapped by the circle. Before we could react, Tubby came bounding down the walk and into the circle with the squirrel. Tubby slowed to a saunter and approached the squirrel with what would have been stealth if he wasn't 10 pounds overweight, if we weren't all standing there watching him the whole time, and if he hadn't made a great galloping sound along the walkway. The squirrel froze again, except for his paw, which was nervously stroking Barbie's hair. Tubby lowered his head into the squirrel's face and headbutted it.

"Hey!" the squirrel said indignantly. Tubby purred and headbutted the squirrel again, knocking him back. I called Tubby. He actually responded and walked in my general direction for a few feet away from the squirrel until a blade of grass caught his attention. When Tubby crossed the circle of stones, the squirrel realized that the circle had been broken and scampered off with the head of Barbie clutched in his teeth.

"I'd have thought Cat Woman would have taught him how to deal with cats. You should gather these stones," I told the kids. I picked the cat up to return him to the house. "I don't know what I'm going to do when you two get your hands on Lord of the Flies or something."

Under Cover

Question of the day: Have you ever been embarrassed to buy a book?

I rode my bike over to the Barnes & Noble and while browsing around, I remembered that today is the release day for a book by an author whose blog is very funny (Read her summary of Star Trek here). So, it's a YA novel, and I felt a little wooly about being a big old sweaty man walking around in the teen section of the bookstore. But I got over that. I mean, the bike shorts and helmet explain the sweatiness and I didn't realize until later that I haven't shaven this week (working from home until tomorrow, dontcha know).

Unfortunately, the publishers put a cover on the book that I found difficult to approach the register with. I don't think I'm normally so self-conscious, but the pouty lips on this guy are a little much. Here it is, Sarah Rees Brennan's The Demon's Lexicon, strapped to the back of my bike:

The Demon's Lexicon strapped to a bicycle

I was reminded of the "adult" covers for Harry Potter books in the UK. They weren't covered with sexy people - not that kind of "adult" -- but they also didn't have a kid wizard waving a wand around. I think I remember one being just an older car flying through the clouds. Oh, yes, here it is from Amazon:

Now, that's a respectable cover. At the time, I scoffed: who cares if there's a bunch of flames and dragons on the cover of the book you're carrying on the Metro? But then I was presented with lip-boy here, and I have changed my mind: It'd be nice if they did this for everybody's books. Sarah says in her blog that there's "no eternal romance to speak of," so I screwed up my courage and bought the book anyway.

Along the ride home, I thought I'd go check out the end of the WB&A trail that I hadn't seen before. (Someday it might go all the way through to Odenton and then you can ride to BWI and Annapolis along the trail, but for now it stops near the old racetrack.) I like the boardwalk toward the other end (plus culverts are cool. (Temperature-wise, I mean. Nice to breeze through on such a hot day.))

Boardwalk on WB&A Trail

At the entrance from Route 197, I was greeted by this interesting sign:

Gun Club Sign

I don't know if it's really trying to tell me that the gun club is ahead on the trail for my safety, but I felt a little nervous along the way. I didn't hear any gunshots, but I was still glad that I'd turned the book over on my bike rack:

book on bicycle

I'm looking forward to reading this book, but I might take the paper off. There's a cool sword underneath.

Have you ever been self-conscious about carrying around a book with a particular cover?

Updated to Add: Apparently, I've been worried about a cover before on this blog.

Bragging Rights

OK, I'm only going to do this once (for this book). It's my first sale, so I hope you'll indulge me a bit if I go on about a review of my little story called "Steaming Mad."

I sent a short story out last October. It was accepted for an anthology about super heroes. This book is now available on Amazon:

My little story is only two pages of this book and I don't get any more than the $2 I earned on selling it and it is not going to be available (in all likelihood) in your local bookstore, but still it's my first sale and I'm proud. Plus, my story got mentioned in a review of the book:

A few other stories in the anthology had a "comedic" bent to them. When I first started reading "Steaming Mad", I thought something seemed a bit strange. It kept getting stranger. Then all became clear, and I wanted to groan, but the story was too cleverly delivered for that. So I just shook my head and smiled.

Aw, shucks.