Category Archives: Life

Suburban bliss…

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I think ranting about my neighbor is going to become a regular feature here. There’s just too much good (bad) stuff to pass up…

Given the ridiculous heat and the fact that my lawn is staying alive only through the nourishing power of fertilizer and thousands of gallons of irrigation, I mow, on average, every other weekend. I did the mowing, did the trimming, and was putting the power equipment away when my neighbor fired up his, much more wussy than mine, mower. Not a big deal, glad to see the guy take an interest in lawn care. I won’t get into the fact that he actually ground it down to bare earth or that in the 6 months grass has been growing, he has never actually done any trimming.

Hearing the neighbor shut down his mower, I stepped onto the back patio for a tasty smoky treat and to look askance at the travesty the guy regularly inflicts on his lawn. I know my lawn and it only took a quick look over to see that something wasn’t right. Somehow, this putz had managed to leave a three foot tall swath just on his side of the property line between our houses. I know it’s on his side of the line because there’s a steak at the back corner and another at the front curb and that remembering my high school geometry, I can identify a line using those two points.

I’ll be the first to admit that property boundaries on our subdivision are a little odd, but they are all straight lines, rather than the gently curving arc that now appears to separate us. Really, numbnuts, how the hell can you not know where your property stops? And even if you didn’t know, the part I cut twenty minutes before you started should have been a pretty damn good indication. Yes, I know it seems strange and intuitively, you’d think that the boundary would be equidistant between our houses, but in reality, 2/3 of the open space is on your side of the line.

If you can’t get something this relatively easy figured out, how in the name of all things holy do you function in actual society and deal with issues that require more than breathing and walking all at the same time?

Someone once commented on good fences making good neighbors… do you suppose that’s still true when you make your fence out of razor wire and seed it with claymores?

Flash traffic…

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There’s nothing that gets the blood flowing on a Friday afternoon like a “flash” message to prepare for emergency action. There’s a storm out there grinding its way towards Hawaii. She’s a category three this morning, but will get out over colder water this evening and weaken before getting close enough to do any real damage. In a moment of frustration with how things have been going at the office, this was just the reminder I needed to dig in and find a little motivation.

Mayhem, chaos, and destruction… God help me, I do love it so.

Doors and windows…

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It’s remarkable how opportunities present themselves, particularly those you aren’t expecting. Just when you write off one possibility, it appears again. Maybe it’s a sign from Providence… or maybe it’s because other people suck… In either case, there’s a lot. Lots of thinking to do on this one. More to follow…

Blur…

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The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized how important it is to hang on to the friends you had when you were a kid. They’re the ones who know where you came from and won’t let you forget it. The ones you cannot see for months on end and effortlessly pick up the conversation like you’d just had a burger at the local greasy spoon the last night. They are the ones who know your secrets and like you anyway. Maybe more importantly, they’re the guys you bled with and who bled with you.

For a long time now, I’ve known that I could be a better friend. The days stream by in a blur of airports and meetings and I realize months have gone by. We’re all busier now, occupied with the commitments of work and family and time has become our most valuable commodity. At the most basic level, I could have spend more time on the phone or sent a few more emails. I could have been there more often on a lot of fronts. Realistically, I think we all know that life isn’t going to be slowing down any time soon. At least not until we collectively punch our last timecard and head to the golf course.

I wish someone would have stopped me years ago, sat me down and made me understand how fast the time would go. There should be some kind of class that teaches you things like that. I don’t want to make a blanket statement and say anything like “I’d love to go back and go to school all over again.” I think that’s probably overstating the case. I would love to go back for just one night, one average night when the whole gang was together. A fire, a half-dozen pizzas, and a house full of your closest friends. I want to go back and see the “god’s eye view” of things and watch it all unfold. It really must have been something to see.

In the meantime, know that I think of you all often. I’m both proud of and humbled by your friendship. I’ve been told I need to stop the mushy posts and keep to ranting, which is a much more natural voice, but I’ve promised to always blog what happens to be on my mind and there you have it, live via tape delay, from Hartsfield International on the evening of July 30, 2007.

The morning after…

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It’s been a long time since I hear the bell for last call… and this morning, I’m remembering why. Had a great night with old friends as well as meeting some new and interesting people. A good time was had by all… but I’m going to leave it there because I’m fairly certain that staring at this computer screen is going to make my eyes explode.

Dear Neighbor (or Another reason why I hate people)…

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Dear Neighbor,

They pick up the trash in our subdivision on Wednesday. It’s customary for folks to put their trash out on Tuesday evening and then take their newly emptied trashcan off the curb when they get home Wednesday afternoon. Is it really so hard for you to get with the program? Why is your lovely green can still sitting on the curb on Saturday morning? It’s right there by your mailbox and I’ve seen you picking up your mail in the afternoons when you get home. Is it too hard for you to extend your other hand and drag your can back to the garage like every other damned person in the universe?

And another thing… Why the hell are you watering your lawn? I mean, really, why bother? You clearly hate cutting your grass because you do it so rarely… Not to mention that there are three foot tall weeds growing around every obstruction in your yard… including you house. If you’re not going to do the required maintenance, why do something that actually encourages the stuff to grow in the first place? And really, if you’re too lazy to break out the weedeater once a week, at least invest $5.00 in a bottle of Round-up and kill that shit.

Yours very sincerely,

Jeff

Door-to-door…

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It’s the worst kept secret in the world that organized religion and I have a general difference of opinion. I don’t have any problem with folks who embrace religion, I’m just not one of them. If I would have been interested in finding a church, or Jesus, or whatever it was I was supposed to be looking for, I would have done it by now. What I don’t need is a van-full of Baptists showing up in my driveway when I’m trying to tend to the yard – yes, I fired Paco and his lawn service, by the way… That’s a story that involves scalping the lawn and chopping the shit out of downspouts with a weedwacker, but I digress. I’m sweaty, the sprinklers are running, and I’m holding a shovel. If you’re pulling into my driveway, this is a sign that it may not be the best time to stop for a chat… especially if I don’t know you. Because quite frankly, I’m not thinking about my immortal soul at the point… I’m mentally calculating how many of you I can take out with the pointy end of a shovel before you get me… This is Memphis after all.

With that being said, don’t peddle your church door-to-door. It’s annoying. And really, assuming God really is all knowing and all powerful, He doesn’t need to be sold like encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners. That’s just tacky.

Flock of Seagulls…

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I was feeling fine when I went to bed last night, but woke up around 3:30 with a cough and sinus stuff going on. All very unpleasant. Even more unpleasant, of course, is that once I’m awake, the chances of actually going back to sleep hover between slim and none. So, reaching for the book I have been working on, I decided to prop myself up with a cup of coffee and read a bit. I don’t get the uninterrupted time to read that I use to, so I am still plowing through Castles of Steel, a really well-written analysis of British versus German fleet action during World War I.

Apparently, during the Great War, the Brits were working on a program that was supposed to train seagulls to poo on U-boat periscopes, preventing them from making torpedo attacks on commercial vessels making the run between England and the Americas. I’ve been working in government for a while now and we hear a lot of dumb ideas, but I’m having a hard time figuring out how someone could walk into a room of senior admirals of what was then the world’s most well-respected navy and recommend that enemy submarines could be defeated by having a flock of seagulls drop a duce right on their eyepiece. I haven’t decided if that was wishful thinking or just plain disturbing.

Oh, and for the record, I think I’ll be staying home today. I’m a half-dozen pages into Jutland and want to see how it turns out… well, that and every time I move my head I can actually feel my brain banging around. Sinus pressure blows.

Snarl…

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Here’s a breakdown of three recent charges on my debit card…

– DirecTV = $170.15
– Direct Insurance = $168.75
– AT&T prepaid cell phones (3) = $87.93.

The problem is mainly that none of those charges was actually mine. So, currently I have $1 in my wallet along with a debit card that is deactivated. I have a police report that I can pick up tomorrow afternoon, and Bank of America looking into the situation. Fortunately, they were nice enough to credit my account after I filled out an affidavit and faxed it back to them this morning.

I talked to a “fraud specialist” with AT&T this afternoon who was able to tell me that the charges were made by someone using the name “Jackie.” They declined to give me any more information about the individual until I fax them a copy of the police report. So, Jackie, hear this… I’m coming for you. And when I find you, I’m going to latch on like a bulldog and make your life absolutely miserable. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to loose months of frustration on a singularly deserving target.

A Sunday Driver…

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Good morning, Mr. Minivan Driver. I know what you were thinking this morning just before you heard my breaks lock up and screech as I swerved to avoid plowing into the left rear quarter of your lovely late model suburban nightmare: “Oh my goodness… We’re going to be late for church so I’d better cut across three lanes of traffic to get into the turn lane.” I don’t want to bring up the fact that you were turning from a side street when your signal was red, so you would have had plenty of time to observe my distance to the intersection you wanted to cross closing rapidly. And still, you, Mr. I’m proud of my Cub Scout, bravely dismissed onrushing traffic as not even an inconvenience to your plans. Apparently, there is no connection between being proud of a Cub Scout and having a clue how to drive the family truckster. That’s too bad, really. You could obviously use as much luck as you can find.

I don’t know if you noticed, but I honked and waived at you when I passed. I’m pretty sure your wife noticed, though I’m not sure if she was annoyed with me or you. Probably it was me, because I’m sure you don’t do anything wrong, what with your hurrying to get the family to church and all. Just so you know, I usually wave with my whole hand, but I made an exception for you and the kids this morning. One finger seemed sufficient to express this particular greeting.

I know it’s probably unseemly to pray for yourself… kind of like telling friends what to get you for your birthday… but maybe while you’re communing with the Almighty, you could slip in a small request from me that he send you a some small semblance of a clue. Asshat.