No, legal notices haven't been up-dated . Also, BB&T may have not published 'notice' yet. Sweet article by Matt however...a parody? At first I thought the plant was HLA, it died, because the owner bled the place.
Funny you should pick up on that too... My thought was that it might be a
metaphor for troubles brewing there, perhaps a warning? Kind of an
odd title to pick: "Trouble at the old plant," particularly his usage of the word "
at" (as opposed to "with")...
Wouldn't want to read too much into it though, lol...
Is Mr. Aiken, perchance, not especially fond of Mr. Buccellato and/or HLA?
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Trouble at the old plantBy Matt AikenPublished: Wednesday, May 6, 2009 11:42 AM EDTThere is a small miracle sitting on top of my office desk.
To the casual observer, it may look like nothing more than a simple ivy-filled houseplant.
But here's the miraculous part: I own it, and it's not dead.
See, I bought this plant way back in 2004 when I arrived in Dahlonega with the intention of teaching English at Hidden Lake Academy.
This dream died halfway into 2005, but the plant lives on. And it survived the short move to The Dahlonega Nugget office a month later.
There it has sat ever since.
But in order to truly understand the miraculousness of this plant you must know the history behind it.
See I've spent the past half a decade trying to kill it. It hasn't been a conscience effort so much as accidental deprivation of everything that makes it possible for a plant to grow. Namely water.
As a result, it's had many close calls. For example, I once went close to a solid month without noticing that it had turned into a pile of brown leaves. Finally a concerned coworker, Betty Giffin, sent me an email.
It was simply titled "Dying."
Understandably I clicked on it first, even though my inbox contained what appeared to be a pressing message from the Prince of Nigeria.
"Matt," she wrote. "I think I can hear your plant dying."
That was all.
Point taken. Like an unfit parent I was shamed into action as I dumped a large cup of water into the dry soil. I then went about my work of replying to emails, deleting spam and writing columns about very important issues.
(Now what was I talking about? Ah, yes, my house plant.)
Well within a few days the miracle plant had sprung back to life. And I, in turn, learned a valuable lesson about the mystery of plants. They apparently need water to live.
My mastery of greenery doesn't stop at the office either.
In fact, last year I grew a couple of tomato plants in a pot on my back porch. They eventually produced a pretty big crop and I spent the summer putting them on various salads and sandwiches. However, each time my wife Katie tried one, she'd get a concerned look on her face and quietly say something like: “Why do they taste like this?”
I acted as though I had no idea what she was talking about.
“That's how tomatoes are supposed to taste,” I'd lie.
In truth they did have a certain amount of, um, extreme tartness to them. Which I now assume has something to do with the acidity level of the soil, or some other factor too complicated for a guy who's house plants are regularly on life support.
I suppose this is one of the reasons why I've never planted a real live vegetable garden. Because no vegetable deserves such treatment.
And so it was on this note last weekend that I went to cover the annual opening of the Dahlonega Farmers Market.
Yes on Saturday morning Hancock Park was filled with the types of skilled green thumbed townsfolk that seem to have no trouble making things grow.
In other words, they're showoffs.
Ah well, some people are meant to grow their own food. Others are meant to buy food from the people that grow their own food.
However you'll be glad to know that my office plant is currently in excellent shape.
It's bright, green, healthy and has actually expanded to the point that an ivy vine has has begun to creep across my desk.
So perhaps this means its days of near death experiences are behind it.
Or maybe it's just looking for revenge.
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