- long leisurely country drives performed, in the immortal words of Ron White, at half the speed of smell;
- long periods spent on hands and knees pulling up innocent weeds and replacing them with (arguably) prettier plants;
- if you are of a younger set, blowing up fireworks at any and all hours, making maximum racket and maybe aiming a few at people's houses or faces, just for fun
I'll make something clear here: I am the farthest thing from a gardener there is. I admire those who have the patience and ability to landscape their lots. I will never be one of them. For one thing, I absolutely hate the feeling of dirt on my fingers. It feels as if my pores have expanded and sucked all the dirt deep inside, maybe never to come out. For another, I regard plants the way I do zoo animals and naked women who are not my wife: with indifference. Oh, sure, they're pretty enough, I suppose. But show me the well-decorated inside of a home and I will remember that far more vividly than what was growing on the outside.
All that said, something must be done about our front "lawn". I'll never have a golf green for a yard...ever...but even with my disdain for gardening, I recognize the front of our house is embarrassing. It's weeds, dirt and more weeds, with the odd blade of grass struggling meekly to show itself. One of these weekends, I fully intend to put down some kind of low-maintenance grass out there. If we have a drought, it'll burn, because I regard lawn watering as an almost criminal waste of water. But that's in Nature's hands...and I'm not doing it this weekend, because, umm, why was that again? Oh yeah: THREE DAYS OFF!
Tux woke us up the other night barking at a bunch of clods across the street who decided, at 12:30 in the freaking morning, to get a jump on the fireworks festivities. I woke up from a very deep sleep hearing Tux whining and barking from the front bedroom. I silenced him with a bang and a NO! and then stumbled towards the bathroom, already most of the way back into slumber. Yawning tremendously, my hearing deadened and I actually missed most of the noise from what must have been a colossal explosion. But I didn't miss the flash. To my dazed and dozy mind, it looked like a muzzle-flash. That woke me up...a bit. I crept downstairs and peered out the window of the front door. I didn't bother to turn on the exterior light: no sense in making myself a target.
The word "fireworks" never so much as crossed my mind at that time. I saw a car pulling away across the street and a small crowd dispersing. Whatever the action was, it was over. I was, quite honestly, afraid of going outside in the morning to discover the damage. Owning a house has made me paranoid. I'll freely admit it.
If "fireworks" had occurred to me, my nightime naivete would have kicked in. See, in the daytime, it's pretty hard to shock me. But sometime after midnight--at least when I'm home and half-asleep--I regress to a state of painful innocence. "But fireworks are for Monday night," I'd tell you seriously, "and what's more, it's ILLEGAL to discharge them tonight, and what's more, nobody in their right mind would be out here AFTER MIDNIGHT doing it, and even if they were, NOBODY shoots those things off so close to people's HOUSES..."
I've never been much of a fan of fireworks, either, to be honest. I like the lightshow, but could really do without the accompanying deafening bangs. Of course, teenagers don't seem to notice fireworks that don't sound like God's artillery, and I'm already looking forward to a near-sleepless night on Monday from the neverending barrage. (One year, it didn't stop until nearly dawn.)
Amyway, today has been a nice relaxing day. This morning we went to Future Shop to pick up season one of Joan of Arcadia. They didn't have it on the shelves. At first, I was actually quite pleased at this. "It must be selling like hotcakes", I enthused to myself. I asked on the off-chance that they had more copies behind the counter...maybe somebody wasn't aware the shelves had been picked clean. The cashier, whose name was Tiffany, regarded me blankly. Enunciating carefully, I said "Joan...of...Ar...CAD..i..a" and told her the DVD came out a week ago. She called somebody and then told me he'd be coming up from the back with a copy for me.
It occurred to me that not only were there no copies on the shelves, there wasn't any space for even one. This bothers me. A lot. I wonder if they had it on display for a few days and didn't sell any at all and they were now turning them into mulch. Shit. I'm glad I managed to get my hands on the damn thing.
Our next stop: Bouclair. I could feel my scrotum trying to fold in on itself as soon as I walked through the door. Any more girly and that store would just lift up on its high heels and flounce away.
We were there for some curtains for the library (and, as it turns out, what's now the junk room, will soon be the dog's room and will eventually be the guest bedroom...and the living room to boot.) Everything was 40% off...we got three sets of curtains for what I'd thought we might end up paying for one.
Then off to King's Buffet in Stratford, a monthly date for us and the only decent Chinese food place anywhere remotely near us. My fortune today said "all my hard work will soon be paid off". That sounds much better that "will soon pay off", don't you think?
The best fortune I ever got out of a cookie came from there, too. It said "Beware of small cookies bearing fortunes".
On our way both to and from Stratford, we ran into more than a few of those misplaced Sunday drivers I mentioned above, not to mention three or four people so pissed off by all the slowpokes who dared to drive AT THE SPEED LIMIT that they passed five or six at once...on a hill...endangering their own lives and those of everybody on the road around them.
The line to get into the city dump was beyond all imagining. I can't think what they were giving away out there, but it must have been valuable.
I finally saw Kinsey, a film I'd been clamoring to see since it appeared in theatres. For good reason, as it turns out. Both Liam Neeson and Laura Linney give great performances. The pacing is a bit slow, but I found the movie quite engrossing.
Also saw Team America: World Police. This effort, from the guys who brought you South Park and Orgazmo, is by turns hysterically funny and almost unwatchably disgusting. Those of you with even a slight prudish streak should probably give this one a pass. Even I found myself sickened in places.
Next up, tomorrow: National Treasure and Blade: Trinity. And a whole bunch of housecleaning. I can't relax for three days straight: that'd be just lazy.
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