The October 2022 issue of Car and Driver magazine arrived in my mailbox last week and included a story which triggered memories of another story which I helped circulate many years ago when I was New Mexico bureau manager for United Press International.

The story in the car magazine talked about research being done on a plant called guayule (pronounced wy-OO-lee). This desert shrub grows in the arid Chihuahuan desert of southern New Mexico, southeastern Arizona, far west Texas and parts of northern Mexico.

The research involves extracting a rubber substitute from the bush to replace rubber produced from more typical rubber trees, mostly grown in tropical areas of South America.

The story from years ago was written by a member of my staff at UPI, John Webster, a talented journalist who had a knack for finding interesting science related stories. We distributed his story on national wires regarding research being done at New Mexico State University to grow the plant commercially.

I hadn’t read any stories about the plant or the research for years, but always wondered what might have happened to plans to develop the plant as a more sustainable rubber substitute.

As it turns out, tire maker Bridgestone has been continuing its research into guayule and has already started testing tires made from rubber from the plant. It plans to begin commercial production of tires made from guayule rubber in 2030.

(Full disclosure: My new GMC pickup was equipped from the factory with Bridgestone tires — unfortunately made from regular rubber. I’m hoping when I wear them out, I can replace them with tires from rubber grown in New Mexico, but that depends on whether my current tires will last that long — not likely.)😉

There are many good things to recommend guayule rubber, according to the Car and Driver article. Being native to the arid high desert, the plants don’t require much water, can grow in rocky-sandy soil that doesn’t suit many other plants and grow in areas that would not otherwise be used for food plants. The article also notes that there are “no transoceanic supply chain issues, (and it) is far less labor intensive than (traditional rubber)… to grow and harvest.” The plants also seem to be naturally resistant to pests and the harvesting process is mechanized, as opposed to hand-harvesting rubber from traditional plants.

So promising is guayule that Bridgestone plans to invest another $42 million toward operations to expand the research and development program. Unfortunately, most of the company’s research is currently being done near Eloy, AZ, and not in New Mexico at this time.

Here’s a website link to Bridgestone’s guayule research.

https://www.bridgestone.com/technology_innovation/natural_rubber/guayule/

The rubber is also hypoallergenic, which makes it an ideal application in the medical field and may also produce biofuels and other bio-based chemicals.

I did a follow up to see if NMSU is still doing research on guayule and through the help of my good friend and former Acting Dean of the College of Agriculture, Consumer and Environmental Sciences (ACES), Dr. Jim Libbin, found someone still involved. He is Dr. Kulbhushan Grover, an Associate Professor of Sustainable Crop Production with the College of ACES who came to NMSU in 2009. Originally from India, he was most informative, enthusiastic and a delight to give me more information about research into finding what kinds of productive commercial crops can grow in arid lands (think New Mexico). Most of his research now focuses on another desert plant, guer (pronounced GOO-are) that produces a gum that can be used in a variety of consumer products like cosmetics and certain foods. Dr. Grover said its biggest application currently is in the fracking process used in so many oilfields these days.

NMSU’s original work on guayule started many years ago with a federal grant that drew in collaborators from the University of Arizona, Colorado State University, the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Bridgestone and others.

There is still some guayule research going on here and specimens of the plant are currently being grown in one of NMSU’s experimental farms (possibly at the Fabian Garcia Research Center — literally just down the street and around the corner from where we live. I plan to check it out.)

Dr. Grover game me the name of a professor currently working on that research and I’ll probably give him a call in a couple of weeks to find out what’s new.

I’m sorry if this was boring to a lot of you, but I think research like this at our public universities is a bright spot in New Mexico that we need to know about and appreciate why our Land of Enchantment is such a special place.

This will be kind of a mish-mash of short subjects that occurred to me last week and during one mostly sleepless night when a late evening glass of iced tea was responsible for my caffeine-charged brain wandering around aimlessly in my skull.

__________

The first involved a trip to the Southern New Mexico Fair, where we attended the “Ranchers Rodeo”. We got there early enough to enjoy all the usual hoopla and pageantry that seems to be required for any rodeo event that I’ve ever attended.

Of course one of those elements was the singing of the national anthem. The rodeo organizers had lined up a talented female singer with a strong voice that would carry easily through the noisy indoor-outdoor arena. Unfortunately, in preparation for the first event of the rodeo, about a dozen calves had been penned up in the center of the arena. When the woman began singing the young cows responded with unabated loud bellows for their mothers. It was as if they were singing along with her.

I recorded it on my I-phone because I thought it was so hysterical, but unfortunately the endless sorrowful moos of the calves were drowned out by a more powerful PA system so I decided the video wasn’t worth including. I hope the young singer didn’t feel offended by the calves response to her performance.

__________

I have no idea why I thought of this.

While working in Albuquerque about 10 years ago, one of my colleagues was discussing her family roots in the city. It turns out her father was a hard working plumber who had retired after many years doing a job many of us home owners dread doing ourselves.

When I asked her what her father was doing in his retirement years, she answered in a manner that left me nonplussed

“He’s writing a book on the history of the plumbing industry in Albuquerque.,” she answered, possibly with a slight tone of embarrassment in her voice.

You can’t beat that for page-turning reading.

__________

When in Ruidoso recently, I spotted this vehicle at a car show.

Aside from its eye-popping color scheme and ridiculously tall rear wing, the thing that most drew my attention was the heart-shaped tow ring at the right rear of the car. It was rather flimsy looking, and I’m not sure it would have endured even a minor tug from a Ford F150 four-wheel drive truck to pull it out of a snow drift.

I’ll leave it to you to interpret that feature.

__________

Speaking of cars, my sister informed me after reading my recent blog that she had no memory of my near-death experience when she launched our 63 Chevy Belair station wagon into the stratosphere as it zoomed over the top of “Thrill Hill” in Ruidoso. I guess as a perpetrator of such a potentially life-altering event, her brain had erased it some years ago. 

What both of us did remember, however, was when she was flung out of the back door of our 57 Chevy 210 sedan when it rounded a sharp corner. She was leaning against the right rear door of the vehicle when my mother rounded a corner on the main street in Ruidoso. The door had apparently not been properly latched and seat belts were a thing of the future. I was sitting on the left side of the back seat when I saw her tumble out of car and disappear in a cloud of dust. I don’t remember her crying or making a big fuss about it, but from that point on she made darn certain that her door was shut properly.

I attribute that incident to her lifelong passion for following the rules. And maybe having an occasionally weird hiccup in her brain.

And speaking of dumb things that happen to teenagers in cars, I also recall an incident in which I almost impaled myself with a falling tree top. I had acquired a World War II surplus Ford-manufactured Jeep that I drove to high school and used to explore the back roads of Ruidoso. On several occasions, I got it stuck on a back road and had to be rescued by a giant four-wheel-drive tow truck. I did dumb things in it. 

Full of invincible teen-age hormones, I was always seeking new tricks that I could do with the virtually indestructible Jeep. On one trip, I spotted a dead ponderosa pine that I was sure I could topple with a solid punch of my all-steel front bumper while the Jeep was in low-range four-wheel-drive mode. When I hit the trunk of the tree with a jarring thud, the bottom part of it remained intact. Then I heard a snap and looked up to see at least 20 feet of the top of the tree hurtling down directly toward me in the driver’s seat. Luckily, we wore no seatbelts at the time, and I was able to eject myself from the Jeep before the top part of the tree hit my seat, leaving a ragged hole in the cushion where I would have been sitting.

Who says kids don’t have guardian angels?

_________

And lastly — I’m sure you wanted to know this — I captured another squirrel this week. During my squirrel eradication campaign, I managed to trap six and Chester nabbed one. I hope the one I got earlier this week the last one. 

My disposition of the critter was not a fond memory, however. I had been taking them to a field south of Mesilla where there was lots of cover, water and a pecan grove nearby. This time, I decided to cut corners and stopped at a vacant lot just west of us to let it out under a thicket of pecan tree trimmings. 

Just as I let it out, I heard a booming voice behind me asking “what did you just release?”

“A squirrel,” I said as I turned to see a stern looking young man who had approached me  unnoticed from behind.

“Is this lot your property?” I asked sheepishly.

“Yes, and we already have enough of those around here,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again.”

I apologized profusely, never suspecting that the weed-infested lot was something that anyone nearby owned. I drove away quickly, continuing to apologize and hoping he did not write down my license plate number.

Lesson learned.

But at least I think (hope) I’m out of the squirrel trapping business. 

You’ve got to give it up to the kids in Clovis. They know how to get in on the latest online challenges. And also how to get the attention of their school nurses.

A report last week said that the nursing staff in Clovis schools had suddenly been inundated with treating kids eating a new kind of hot chile flavored snack — Paqui.

Apparently it is a single corn chip slathered in Carolina Reaper and Scorpion pepper and then — just for the effect — sold in a coffin-shaped package for about $5. To entice people to try it, there has been a “One Chip Challenge.”

An e-mail was sent out by the Clovis schools urging parents to tell their kids not to participate in the challenge.

“As of Friday (Sept. 16), more than 20 students in our district have required medical intervention after either ingesting of touching One Chip Challenge Chips,” the school memo said.

Some of you may remember that when Flamin’ Hot Cheetos were first introduced, many kids became semi addicted to them. In fact, a health official in an unidentified New Mexico school district sent out an impassioned warning to parents saying kids should avoid the snack. She mentioned that the snack could cause health problems from eating such a spicy food, gave a warning that germs could be spread by kids sharing the Cheetos and raised the issue of how much trouble it was to scrub off sticky red fingerprints on school desks and tables. Another school district in Illinois completely banned them.

My thought is that if incredibly spicy foods made from chiles entice people to participate in goofy challenges, why can’t we create our own New Mexico hot chile challenge? I mean, we are the chile capitol of the world, right? I know our own New Mexico State University has done research on the incredibly hot “ghost chile” or bhut jolokia. So why not challenge people to each so much of it that they hallucinate and start seeing ghosts? 

Okay, bad idea. Someone will probably try that and I’ll get blamed for it. And then I’ll have to clean up all those smudged red fingerprints on water glasses and on their cell phone screens when they had to call an EMS team. 

An article in this week’s Albuquerque Journal announced that the iconic slope in the center outfield of Isotopes Park was being removed.

It was a unique feature that was installed when the park was completely redesigned in 2003 in an apparent nod toward eliminating the “cookie cutter” approach to baseball parks that had been panned in the previous decade. And although there were never any recorded injuries to players, the “thrill hill” feature is being eliminated in the interest of safety.

The slope was a tricky challenge for center fielders who had to gauge the edge of the outfield with a warning track then negotiate the 20 to 30 degree upslope when looking up at the sky to try to snag a long ball. I think I can recall a few stumbles when players caught near home runs on the slope, but nothing dangerous.

For the Isotopes pitchers, it became a boon when they gave up a long blast to center field and forced opposing outfielders to stumble with the change in terrain and miss the ball. For Isotopes outfielders, it became a familiar challenge and friend that they mastered better than their opponents.

In one way, it reminded me of a section of a street in my home town of Ruidoso where a sharp rise between two small valleys created an exciting experience in a car for teen-aged drivers. If you were driving about 40 miles per hour on the street, you’d experience momentary weightlessness and shrieks from passengers as you went over what became known as “Thrill Hill.” Eventually the local traffic engineers and cops figured out what was going on with the local kids and knocked off the top 15 feet or so of the hill and smoothed out the approach to it so there was no more “thrill.”

I particularly remember an incident when my sister was at the wheel of our ’63 Chevy station wagon and drove over the crest at what was probably an irresponsible rate of speed. When she got to the top of the hill and the lumbering Chevy briefly became airborne, she apparently became afraid she would be tossed so far up that she would no longer be able to reach the brakes. She responsively put her right hand up to the headliner to keep her planted in her seat, but unintentionally jerked the steering wheel about a quarter of a turn to the left. When we landed, the mushy two-ply Goodyear whitewall tires on the Bel Air wagon howled and pitched us into the opposing lane before she could correct our trajectory. Luckily no one else was approaching from the other direction and we all survived. The only damage to the vehicle might have been a wet spot on the seat.

I’ve attached a link to the Albuquerque Journal story in case you missed it, along with a video produced by the Isotopes about the end of the “‘Tope Slope.”

Albuquerque Journal link:

https://www.abqjournal.com/2535493/time-to-say-so-long-to-beloved-topes-slope.html

Video link:

Albuquerque Isotopes on Twitter: “After 19 seasons, it’s time to say goodbye to our center field hill. You produced some of our fondest memories and the most spectacular catches. After Wednesday’s 6:35 pm game, fans are invited to take pictures in front of the hill to say goodbye. Thanks for the fun times.✌️ https://t.co/C6OK5VLtrC” / Twitter

Be careful out there. There could be a baby alligator or tiger lurking somewhere in the state.

Police in Albuquerque reported earlier this month that they had received a tip that a juvenile tiger was being held captive in an apartment in the city.

When they checked the apartment, they didn’t find a tiger. They did, however, find a baby alligator and $40,000 in cash, illegal drugs and weapons.

Those who lived in the apartment have been arrested and the alligator has been turned over to an abandoned pet haven.

The search for the tiger, however, goes on. It is believed to weigh between 30 and 60 pounds, is thought to be less than a year old and might be anywhere in the state.

So if Florida, Auburn, LSU, Missouri or Memphis are currently short a live mascot, just check in New Mexico. We might just be able to help you out.

I wrote a blog earlier about how a bunch of Atari video games had been buried in a landfill near Alamogordo as the company was slowly dying in the early 1980s.

Sources say 29 truckloads or almost 800,000 games which could not be sold were dumped in the Alamogordo landfill apparently because the company was in financial stress and the games did not work with the company’s newest game console. After word leaked out that the games had been dumped, people began to sneak into the landfill and pilfer the brand new games. Eventually the dump site was covered over in concrete and people forgot about the treasure trove.

Computer game nerds eventually tracked down the dumping site again and in 2014, with assistance from the city, recovered 1,382 games, including the newly released “E.T” game. About 800 of the games that were recovered were sold in a benefit auction that netted about $107,000 for City of Alamogordo public works projects and the Tularosa Basin Historical Society.

Apparently, 283 more games were kept in seclusion after the 2014 “dig” and will soon be offered on auction on E-Bay, again with proceeds to benefit public works projects in Alamogordo and the Tularosa Basin Historical Society. One hundred of the games will become part of the historical archive. The last time the games were auctioned, the most popular “E.T.” game fetched between $800 and $1,535 per copy. A peek online last week showed that a pristine unopened version of Atari’s “E.T.” has been offered to up to $3,199 on E-Bay.

The date that the games will be offered in auction has not yet been released.

New Mexico has a long and successful history of gold, silver, copper and other mineral mining, oil and gas production and even mining operations for turquoise and other gems. Now digging underground has produced another kind of financial benefit for the state.

And on a side note, I think it would be really cool if Drew Barrymore would come to Alamogordo to help promote the auction.

Our semi-rural neighborhood has always had lots of critters running around in it — skunks, raccoons, foxes, squirrels and even an occasional javelina. It makes the place interesting as long as they don’t invade the house, spray our dog Chester or dig up the yard.

Three weeks ago, we went on a week-long trip to visit our grandkids in California and kept Chester at a kennel during that time.

Apparently that was all it took for the local ground squirrels to decide that our back yard had become abandoned and they proceeded invade a woodpile in the southeast corner of the property. A squirrel airbnb, so to speak. We started noticing them as soon as we came back — a couple of larger adults and a squoggle (my word) of cute babies.

They began to mercilessly torment Chester, who would dash out the back door when he spotted one and fruitlessly try to catch it before it ducked into the cover of the woodpile. Eventually, he snagged one of the baby squirrels, which I guess for a dog is some kind of a rite of passage. He didn’t kill it, but flogged it around in front of us so we could see how brave he was in protecting our home from the rodents. Clearly maimed, I picked it up while it was still lightly breathing and placed it somewhere that I hoped it might recover. I didn’t see it again the next day, and I suspect a cat, fox or sunk may have done it in.

At this point, my wife and I figured we probably needed to do something to get rid of the obvious nest that had been established in the woodpile. We went to Tractor Supply and bought a humane trap and set it out. We used apple slices slathered with peanut butter and topped with pecan half as bait.

In the first day we caught two, one an adult and the other a baby. I caught three more babies last week and am hoping I can snag the four or five more that I believe are still cavorting inside the woodpile and laughing at us and Chester.

I have released all of them west of here in an open field lined with trees on one side, a pecan grove on the other and an irrigation canal nearby. I thought it would be a pretty friendly place for the critters. I hope they all make it and don’t make life too difficult for other homes that are nearby. I do worry that they might get squished while trying to cross the nearby road, but they’re pretty quick. As smart as they appear, I hope they’ re not like dogs or cats who routinely make it back to their original homes.

And we hope they’re sending negative reports to airbnb about our squirrel condo so that others won’t think it’s a cool place to visit.

We’re thinking a squirrel review might read:

“It was a nice place to stay, but it was disconcerting when we noticed many of the guests suddenly disappeared while investigating this large metal thing sitting at the edge of the woodpile.”

Snap. Squeak.

I attended a high school reunion in my home town Ruidoso last weekend, It’s the third or fourth one I’ve been to in the past several years. This one marked our 75th birthdays.

Usually, these events revolve around just two questions:

“Do you remember when we … ?

or

“Whatever happened to old so-and-so… ?

This year’s was a bit different, with much of the conversation focused on health-related issues — knee replacements, cataract surgery, heart issues, arthritis, etc. But as my good friend Jimmy pointed out, it’s actually a good thing because you know you’re not the only one going through these health issues now and you have a support base of friends who may help you cope with these annoyances.

I was pleasantly surprised that there were no political issues that were raised during the conversations at the retreat. I was a bit fearful of that, given that some of my classmates were likely on the opposite spectrum of my political philosophy and I didn’t want to have to wade into any of those kinds of discussions during an otherwise pleasant experience. I think it was a good reminder that most people are inherently good, kind and helpful if you just steer away from political discussions.

Of course, there were some great stories that were told during the weekend. I think forcing yourself to dig into these memories that have been filed away in the furthest corners of your brain is good mental exercise. I especially enjoyed reminiscing about our experiences on the Warrior football team. I didn’t think we won that many games, but my teammates seemed to have fonder memories of our on-field accomplishments, so that was good to hear. I also got to learn more about who I consider my two best friends from high school, Jimmy and Burly (known now more as Lewis).

Burly told a great story about how when he went to elementary school, his faithful dog accompanied him. His teacher allowed the dog to be in the classroom with him during the school day. At the end of the school year, the well-behaved pup got a report card from the teacher. I never heard what the dog’s gradepoint was, but I’m sure he passed. The dog even went to school on his own one day when Burly couldn’t make it. He also said his dog rolled over on his back at school at one point, exposing his private parts and prompting a female classmate to ask “does yours look like that?”

And Jimmy told a story about another classmate named Spike who has become a bit of a free spirit and showed up unannounced at Jimmy’s home in Dallas a few years ago. Apparently not having any permanent place to stay, Jimmy graciously allowed him to bunk there. But Spike didn’t just bring himself. He brought his girlfriend at the time (who may or may not have been pregnant — I can’t remember), his dog and — get this — two parrots. The “visitors” eventually took over Jimmy’s living room as their guest room and stayed longer than Spike had said he would be there. The even-tempered and kind-hearted Jimmy eventually had to nudge them out of the house to reclaim the living room. At last report he (and the parrots) may be living in New Orleans.

Many of my classmates have been successful. Lots of them moved away to become professionals in widespread locations around the country. Several of them have stayed around the Ruidoso area, owning businesses, working in the local schools, contributing to the community, etc. And many of them have done a significant amount of travel. Although a few have died, a surprising number of us are still around.

All in all, not bad for about 50 kids who grew up in a small mountain town in southern New Mexico.

*Those are the words that begin the Ruidoso High School fight song, written by our own band director, LeRoy Gooch. I can still sing the entire thing, especially if I’ve had more than one glass of wine or other lubricant.

You may remember that earlier this year I wrote posts about how Mexican bologna was being smuggled into the United States, much of it through New Mexico. U.S. Customs officials said smuggled bologna was a threat to all Americans and said it was “not funny” that people were making jokes about it.

I mean really, bologna as contraband? Stuffing a spare tire full of bologna to avoid detection? Smelling up neighborhoods in southern Dona Ana County by burning contraband bologna to protect us from ourselves?

I found it amusing immediately launched an in -depth investigation into why the processed meat from Mexico was suddenly such a hot commodity.

Through stealthy investigation, I located a store in Las Cruces which sold it out of a back room, purchased some, and drove home while fully expecting flashing red lights and sirens to chase me down. Once home, I conducted scientific taste tests and came up with these startling conclusions: 1. It tasted pretty much like Oscar Mayer bologna that you can buy at your local Albertson’s. 2. It was a little bit drier. 3. It was a little more expensive than the American-made stuff. 4. Chester, our dog, seemed to like it. 5. I did not die or develop any gastronomic malady from consuming it.

Then after my story broke, National Public Radio broadcast an episode of “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” which featured people chuckling about the absurdity of smuggled Mexican bologna.

But wait!!! Just this month, the magazine Texas Monthly published an article entitled “Why Are Border Smugglers Trafficking Bologna?” The article by Madeleine Aggeler was very well done and pretty clever. She spent a lot more time in her pursuit of “why Mexican bologna” than I did.

She concluded that for one thing, smuggling bologna from Mexico is highly profitable. For example, a nine-pound roll of bologna that costs $10 to $15 in Mexico can be sold in the United States for up to $120.

“The quantities of intercepted bologna are so large that it’s hard to believe that there are any pigs left in the world,” the author Aggeler muses. 

She also quips that when first encountering a confiscated tube of bologna, it was like “holding the hull of a Boeing 727 but made entirely of flesh.”

The reporter for Texas Monthly says residents of Mexico think the Mexican variety of bologna is richer and “more porky” — a subtlety that escaped me in my scientific taste test. 

But mostly, for Mexicans in the United States, it’s a taste of home — kind of like Vegemite in Australia or Spam in Hawaii. 

Below is a link to the Texas Monthly article if you want to read it. But remember, you heard about it first in my post on at Aero-Cordero.com!

https://www.texasmonthly.com/being-texan/bologna-seized-at-texas-mexico-border/

If you live in New Mexico, you either own a Ford F-150 pickup, will own one someday or know about dozen people who already own one. I think on birth certificates issued in New Mexico, there is a box you have to check that says that at some point, you promise that this child will own a Ford F-150. There’s a good chance the child was even conceived in the cab or the bed of a Ford F-150. I’ve concluded it’s basically a requirement for citizenship here.

As a contrarian, of course, I choose not to own one. I prefer GMC pickups, but that’s another story for another time.

My wife and I just returned from a week of watching grandkids in California while our son and his wife were guests of his company for what sounded like a spectacular recognition event. We were glad to spend time with our energetic grandsons, Max and Truman, but we did think longingly about our son and his wife relaxing on a beach in Hawaii.

What stood out most in my mind during our week in Irvine, CA, was the vast number of Tesla EV cars on the streets. I honestly think about every third car out there was a Tesla.

Years ago, when we lived in Santa Fe, Range Rovers were quickly becoming the vehicle of choice for trendy upscale Santa Fe residents. Just like Teslas in Irvine, they were everywhere. We even re-named a street intersection in Santa Fe “Range Rover Corner” because you could not go through it without spotting at least one of the British SUVs. But even today, when you see a Tesla in our zip code, it’s a novelty.

I get that EVs are the way of the future. But in a rural environment where we live, we need a few more accommodations to accept them as being truly practical. (Think about having to recharge your Tesla when you’re out of battery juice in the town of Reserve in Catron County. The county says you’re required to own a gun to live there (look it up), but I doubt availability of an EV charging station is on the county’s “required” list).

There were a couple of Telsa related moments on our trip.

The first one involved the possibility of rolling blackouts due to the heat wave in southern California while we were there (trust me, hot weather in Las Cruces is w-a-a-a-y easier to tolerate than in California where they aren’t really equipped to endure it). The local news media urged owners of electric vehicles to not recharge them during the heat wave to save power for more important things, like hospitals, lights, refrigerators or home air conditioners. Kind of an “ah-ha” moment, I thought, for Tesla owners.

The next event happened when I pulled next up to a Tesla at a stop light on a major thoroughfare in Irvine. From my ridiculously tall GMC pickup, I could easily peer into the cabin of the vehicle. There sat a man and a woman, intensely studying the screens of their i-Phones, oblivious to the real world around them and the giant centrally mounted infotainment screen in the Tesla cabin. They were oblivious to traffic because I’m sure they thought Tesla and all its technology would take care of them. I am confident the infotainment screen on a Tesla is way more advanced than the one in our new GMC pickup. I’ve suspected that if I poke around on my truck’s menu screens long enough, I’ll be able to really useful things like the mating season of nearby squirrels, skunks or javelinas.

So I suspect when the traffic light turned green, the passengers in the Tesla either got a blaring alarm on their infotainment screen or a bone-jarring vibration in their seat. It was Tesla telling them that they had to temporarily reconnect with the real world and actually drive the damn vehicle.

Okay, no more rants today.

I got a letter last week with the return address for the New Mexico Department of Workforce Solutions on the left upper side of the envelope. It was a window envelope with what looked like a check of some sort inside.

Woohoo, I thought. I savagely ripped open the envelope expecting to find a fat check for something I had not been expecting.

Nope, didn’t happen. I forgot that I had written a blog about this just a few weeks ago. It was a report that the New Mexico Motor Vehicle Department, allegedly short on envelopes and strategic planning, started using envelopes some from another unrelated state agency, then stamping “MVD MAIL” on the right side near the postmark.

Inside was the title to our new truck, which was actually a good thing, knowing how sketchy the MVD’s performance can be in our state.

Now doesn’t that look like it would be a check?

Just too gullible, I guess.

You’ll need to take a long breath before reading the topic of this newly patented research project by the Colorado State University Research Foundation and Pebble Labs of Los Alamos, New Mexico.

Here goes:

“A system for the biocontrol of disease-transmitting mosquitoes and their eggs using horizontally transferable symbiotic bacteria to deliver pathogen specific interfering RNA polynucleotodes.”

And now you’ll need to take a long breath to give your brain enough oxygen to process whatever that is.

I ran across this mouthful of a development in the “On the Record” section of a recent Albuquerque Journal “Business Outlook” section. 

When reading local newspaper, I occasionally skim through legal ads, court rulings, want ads and other seemingly trivial topics and often come up with gems like this. 

I have no idea what this development actually does, but perhaps when I find out more, I’ll do a blog about it. 

In the meantime, if you’re a mosquito beware.  High tech is coming after you. 

If you pay taxes in New Mexico, part of what you sent to the state is now going to help an unusual new industry.

The industry, under the name “Parting Stone,” was recently given a $175,000 state economic development grant through the Local Economic Development Act to make sure the start-up business flourishes at its location in Santa Fe.

What the company does is produce rocks. Well, not just any rocks. They are “memorial stones” made from ashes of persons who have been cremated after their death.

The process of solidifying ashes left behind in the cremation process was made possible through technology developed by the Los Almos National Laboratory. About 40 smooth white stones are created from the ashes of an average adult human.

The president of the company, Justin Crowe, says the stones are better for the environment than randomly scattering ashes around. And, he says, they “provide something beautiful” for the loved ones of the deceased to hold or display.

So if you resisted the “Pet Rocks” fad a few years ago, here’s a way to make up for missing out on it. You’ll just have to wait for Uncle Vern to kick the bucket. 

I got comments from two friends about my blog regarding how the name of the city of Albuquerque (or Albuqueque or Alburquerque) seems to have missed the spell-checker when it was printed on a directional sign erected by the New Mexico Highway Department.

Here’s the link to that post, if you missed it:

wordpress.com/post/aero-cordero.com/3570

First, from my long-time but directionally challenged balloon crew chief, fly fishing wizard, and always entertaining Gloria, comes her comment that the city of Santa Fe can’t event spell her street name correctly.

The street she and husband Dave live on is actually one of the coolest street names I’ve seen, Calle Hawikuh, named after a Zuni pueblo from centuries ago.

Here’s what I found on Wikipedia about Pueblo Hawikuh (don’t always believe everything they say. Do your own research!!!)

“Hawikuh was one of the largest of the Zuni pueblos at the time of the Spanish entrada. It was founded around 1400 AD. It was the first pueblo to be visited and conquered by Spanish explorers.”

Too bad for the Zuni people. And of course, spell checker wants to change the name Hawikuh to “hawkish” or “haiku” or “haikus.”

And Gloria’s comment:
“And (The city of) Santa Fe could not get our street name correct either,” she lamented. “It is Hawikuh not Hawkuh. But our street sign won’t be fixed.”

And next, from my great neighbor and owner of Chester’s best friend, the golden-doddle “Sy,” comes this confession. When he went to buy a new dog tag for Sy, he misspelled his own last name.

When my friend and I first played golf and I had to enter his name on the cart reservation form, I had no idea how to spell his last name. I fumbled with a pen and the reservation form and then, seeing I was having an issue, he spelled it out for me — correctly.

But at any rate, as he confesses in his recent comment, it’s a very long name to spell. And when it came to putting a last name to a new dog tag for Sy, he didn’t get it right.

Here’s his story:

“Recently my dog, with one of the shortest dog names in the state, needed a replacement engraved dog tag. I rushed down to the local pet store to print a new one. I, with one of the longest names in the state, misspelled my own last name on the tag. Unlike the State of New Mexico, I am generally not afraid that others see my errors. Besides it’s not hanging around my neck. A new one will cost $19.95.”

He even has a vintage campaign poster for a relative with his last name plastered on the wall of his home office. He looks at it every day, and you’d think it would be a useful reminder about how to spell his last name.

I get that my last name “Lamb” is a lot easier to spell than my friend’s last name.” So I’m not holding it against him for blowing a 2-amp brain fuse on this one occasion. My brain regularly blows them when I need even marginal thinking power.

Sy, however, might think otherwise, if he could actually spell. So if you see a large (near 100 pound) friendly, fluffy golden-doodle around our neighborhood wearing a dog tag with a last name that doesn’t seem to match his owners, don’t be confused. Sy doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and is just happy to meet anyone, even if you’re puzzled about what his last name is.