Saturday, June 07, 2003
Of Lawnmowers and Rednecks.
Heather's still asleep. Both of the littlins are with me in the living room. Maddie's watching SpongeBob and the Little (?) Prince is in his swing, contemplating something.
But that's not the reason for the header. This is:
I think I will nickname the lawnmower "Herb." Which is short for "herbicide."
Or perhaps Arnold.
"It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are mowed."
It's pretty sweet. If the bag had more capacity, it would simply be American-made perfection. As it stands, though, the mulcher is a decent substitute. In fact, the mulcher will be perfect with shorter grass. But this had gone for upwards of two weeks without a complete mow.
It's mowed now.
We are blessed to live in a neighborhood that doesn't give a rat's about such things. Nobody complained or acted like anything was amiss. The attitude is do your best, don't be a health hazard, a pain in the gluteus or make too much noise, and you'll fit in fine. It's not that way in a lot of "nicer" neighborhoods. Like my brother in law's. He lives right next door to an older woman whose hobbies include complaining to the city about people who haven't mowed their lawns to her pinched standards, or going into a neighbor's yard when the weeds haven't been properly addressed. My brother in law caught her doing this, and pointedly advised her "to keep her a** off my property or I'll call the cops." Given her history, probably too subtle a warning.
That wouldn't happen here. The proof is our very own redneck test: Our 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. The car was effectively dead. The battery was dead, and it took two minutes to get up to highway speeds. The prospective diagnosis was a potentially cracked head--but the mechanics weren't sure. The vehicle's main problem was that it was powered by a Quad 4 engine, one of GM's more problematic inventions. It took forever to get parts for it, because such had to be ordered from a GM yard in Flint. De-lightful!
It was the Olds' death that prompted us to get the Chariot of the Gods--the Venture. But the problem with dispatching the Olds was that it was not possible to get it up to the dealership (55 miles away) for the trade-in. Of course, we still had payments on the immobile piece of crap.
So we just left it in the street, moving it periodically. Worked for a while, but local authorities noticed and warned it would be towed if left in the street. Redeeming it from the impound yard was not an option. So I had the battery jumped and pushed the car into our yard. No, we don't have a driveway yet. If we had, no problem, but...we don't.
So the vehicle languished the rest of winter in the yard. Then spring came, followed by the growth of grass. Yep, redneck: one inoperable motor vehicle in the yard, surrounded by weeds. And our dog sometimes goes under our deck, too. You might be a redneck if....
But nobody complained. Not a word. The only contacts we got for it were three interested buyers, none of whom panned out. One of them was a next door neighbor's son, if that tells you anything. Still, it was starting to cause me to suffer big-time embarrassment. Finally, we got the car paid off. St. Vincent de Paul has a car donation program, and they tow them for free. As of Thursday, problem solved. All that's left of my humiliation is a dirt spot on the lawn, slowly but surely being reclaimed by mother nature. I'm feeling much better now.
Heather's still asleep. Both of the littlins are with me in the living room. Maddie's watching SpongeBob and the Little (?) Prince is in his swing, contemplating something.
But that's not the reason for the header. This is:
I think I will nickname the lawnmower "Herb." Which is short for "herbicide."
Or perhaps Arnold.
"It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are mowed."
It's pretty sweet. If the bag had more capacity, it would simply be American-made perfection. As it stands, though, the mulcher is a decent substitute. In fact, the mulcher will be perfect with shorter grass. But this had gone for upwards of two weeks without a complete mow.
It's mowed now.
We are blessed to live in a neighborhood that doesn't give a rat's about such things. Nobody complained or acted like anything was amiss. The attitude is do your best, don't be a health hazard, a pain in the gluteus or make too much noise, and you'll fit in fine. It's not that way in a lot of "nicer" neighborhoods. Like my brother in law's. He lives right next door to an older woman whose hobbies include complaining to the city about people who haven't mowed their lawns to her pinched standards, or going into a neighbor's yard when the weeds haven't been properly addressed. My brother in law caught her doing this, and pointedly advised her "to keep her a** off my property or I'll call the cops." Given her history, probably too subtle a warning.
That wouldn't happen here. The proof is our very own redneck test: Our 1990 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. The car was effectively dead. The battery was dead, and it took two minutes to get up to highway speeds. The prospective diagnosis was a potentially cracked head--but the mechanics weren't sure. The vehicle's main problem was that it was powered by a Quad 4 engine, one of GM's more problematic inventions. It took forever to get parts for it, because such had to be ordered from a GM yard in Flint. De-lightful!
It was the Olds' death that prompted us to get the Chariot of the Gods--the Venture. But the problem with dispatching the Olds was that it was not possible to get it up to the dealership (55 miles away) for the trade-in. Of course, we still had payments on the immobile piece of crap.
So we just left it in the street, moving it periodically. Worked for a while, but local authorities noticed and warned it would be towed if left in the street. Redeeming it from the impound yard was not an option. So I had the battery jumped and pushed the car into our yard. No, we don't have a driveway yet. If we had, no problem, but...we don't.
So the vehicle languished the rest of winter in the yard. Then spring came, followed by the growth of grass. Yep, redneck: one inoperable motor vehicle in the yard, surrounded by weeds. And our dog sometimes goes under our deck, too. You might be a redneck if....
But nobody complained. Not a word. The only contacts we got for it were three interested buyers, none of whom panned out. One of them was a next door neighbor's son, if that tells you anything. Still, it was starting to cause me to suffer big-time embarrassment. Finally, we got the car paid off. St. Vincent de Paul has a car donation program, and they tow them for free. As of Thursday, problem solved. All that's left of my humiliation is a dirt spot on the lawn, slowly but surely being reclaimed by mother nature. I'm feeling much better now.
