How do you know if you’re an adult?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself a lot over the last few years.
I pondered it during my college graduation, considered it on the day of my wedding, and thought that I needed one’s permission to buy my house. While I’m not sure when I became an adult I do know the exact date that the childhood door slammed shut. April 10, 2009. The day I spent my day off moving a giant pile of dirt by hand. Dirt that I not only paid for but that I was excited to get.
Folks, only grownups get excited about dirt.
And I was excited as a lovely little man named Sid backed up his dump truck and unleashed three yards of dirt all over my driveway. What a thrill to know that it was only 9am and I had the entire day to load and unload my wheelbarrow. For those who have forgotten I have a giant hole in my backyard from a pond. This pond had become a soul sucking abyss and it had to be destroyed. Thus Sid and his dirt.
My plan was simple.
Step 1) Fill wheelbarrow
Step 2) Maneuver wheelbarrow through garage into backyard
Step 3) Empty contents of wheelbarrow into the pit.
Step 4) Repeat steps 1-3
And it was working. Oh sure I had a couple of close calls where my cat like balance nearly failed me (Dropped a bit of dirt in the exact spot my wife parks) but after a couple of hours I was feeling pretty good. The Monster Abyss was dying and the pile was shrinking. Another hour and I was nearly done with plenty of dirt left over. Or so I thought. As I pondered what other projects I could do I took my first steps across my new yard.
Kids, did you know that trapped air under fresh dirt acts just like quick sand?
I didn’t.
(Hey just because I’m an adult doesn’t mean I’m not stupid.)
I dug myself out; made sure I didn’t break my ankle, and then cursed the gods of home renovation.
As I packed the rest of the dirt down I came to the horrible realization that I didn’t buy enough dirt. Worse it was Easter weekend and no one was going to be open to deliver me more.
Crap!
The rest of the day was a blur of cursing, trips to Lowes, and unloading bag after bag after bag of top soil.
But at last I emerged the victory. The Abyss was full(ish) and I hadn’t killed anyone. I consider that a good day.
The lesson here: You can never have enough dirt.
--Schoonaert.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Things in my brain
In these tough economic times we need a moral booster. If I were running the show I’d make it legal for a person to punch three people a year. Now here me out, January 1st everybody would get a little coupon book in the mail.
It’d read: Good for one free punch. No tag backs.
Picture it. You’re in line at the 10 items or less line. Jimmy McDumbfuck has a cart with 27 items. As he pours his bag of nickels on the counter to pay you punch the shit out of his neck. Jimmy starts to get mad when you present him with your coupon. He grumbles, collects his Slim Jims and walks off. How awesome would that be?!?
No? Yes? Maybe? Well, I’d dig it.
Rachael and I are slowly (oh so slowly) making progress on the Yard-Of-Doom! In our attempts to make the backyard look less evil, we’ve circled the trees in Sand Pebbles. I won’t bore you with the details but basically we spent a Sunday driving back and forth from Lowes, our car loaded down with bags of stone. It’s an odd thing to be in the back seat of your own car while shotgun is occupied by bags of rocks. Stranger still when said rocks are buckled in like a child. (This is what happens when you don’t own a truck, kids.)
Rush Limbaugh makes me sad inside.
During my lunch hour I escape to a local park where my car radio keeps me company. For some reason my car gets very few AM stations. (AM. I know. What can I say? I likes me some talk radio.) For the most part my options are ESPN or Rush.
I’m a sports guy so this usually isn’t a problem. But on occasion I’ll tune into Rush.
Ahh, Rush.
Have you ever seen Hook?
You know that scene where Peter Pan’s little girl frowns at Captain Hook and scolds: “You need a Mommy very badly!” That’s Rush.
Hmm.
Could Rush Limbaugh, Icon of aggression, elitism, and generally unpleasantness in fact be Captain James Hook?!? Hey it makes more sense than Robin Williams being Peter Pan. I must test this theory.
Perhaps I’ll call into the show and hold a ticking clock next to the phone.
--BJS
It’d read: Good for one free punch. No tag backs.
Picture it. You’re in line at the 10 items or less line. Jimmy McDumbfuck has a cart with 27 items. As he pours his bag of nickels on the counter to pay you punch the shit out of his neck. Jimmy starts to get mad when you present him with your coupon. He grumbles, collects his Slim Jims and walks off. How awesome would that be?!?
No? Yes? Maybe? Well, I’d dig it.
Rachael and I are slowly (oh so slowly) making progress on the Yard-Of-Doom! In our attempts to make the backyard look less evil, we’ve circled the trees in Sand Pebbles. I won’t bore you with the details but basically we spent a Sunday driving back and forth from Lowes, our car loaded down with bags of stone. It’s an odd thing to be in the back seat of your own car while shotgun is occupied by bags of rocks. Stranger still when said rocks are buckled in like a child. (This is what happens when you don’t own a truck, kids.)
Rush Limbaugh makes me sad inside.
During my lunch hour I escape to a local park where my car radio keeps me company. For some reason my car gets very few AM stations. (AM. I know. What can I say? I likes me some talk radio.) For the most part my options are ESPN or Rush.
I’m a sports guy so this usually isn’t a problem. But on occasion I’ll tune into Rush.
Ahh, Rush.
Have you ever seen Hook?
You know that scene where Peter Pan’s little girl frowns at Captain Hook and scolds: “You need a Mommy very badly!” That’s Rush.
Hmm.
Could Rush Limbaugh, Icon of aggression, elitism, and generally unpleasantness in fact be Captain James Hook?!? Hey it makes more sense than Robin Williams being Peter Pan. I must test this theory.
Perhaps I’ll call into the show and hold a ticking clock next to the phone.
--BJS
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