I often stare at the people passing by.
But they can’t see me through my window shades.
Just like I’m not even there...
– Oingo Boingo, Private Life
One of the things about living at the end of a relatively secluded cul-de-sac is that your front window doubles as a viewfinder into a counter-cultural microcosm. You get a front row viewing of some of the most taboo things people do outside of homes and hotels. You are afforded this entertainment because when it comes to committing clandestine acts, there’s no shortage of people who think a dead-end street is as private as their own basement or bedroom. You’d think the reduction of potential escape routes to only one might be a glaring deterrent – even rats are keen to that point – but no. Evidently, some people actually have less common sense than laboratory rodents. Well, okay, I guess that’s not entirely fair; maybe rats would be more steadfast in blind-alley situations if they had cars with tinted windows, but whatever.
Hot Boxin’
I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve watched high school kids pull up in a Jetta/Accord/Ranger and commence to blazing up a fat bowl of the chronic right there in plain sight. I’m most often treated to this at around 11am on those weekdays when I’m working from home. I sometimes wonder if the Scheduling Imps at the high school office deliberately give all the stoners first lunch, though that seems rather problematic considering the school has only so many vending machines.
I’m often tempted to dig out a laser pointer and really mess with their heads but more often then not, the potheads will only stay long enough to hit the pipe a few times and then they’re gone. Lunch break is short and I imagine they still have to hit the 7-Eleven for Funyuns and Red Bull. You know, due to the school’s vending machine availability problem.
Liquid Lunch
Much less frequent is the rusted out one-ton with the two dopey painters who somehow find their mid-day sustenance in 24 ounces of Budweiser and half a dozen filterless Camels. You can tell they’ve been doing this gig a while; they have all the telltale signs. Their middle and index fingers look like jaundiced, overcooked hot dogs. The deep cracks in their leathern faces speak to lives every bit as damaging but nowhere near as entertaining as those of Keith Richards and Lou Reed. Their coughs are quite obviously chronic, as are their facial petechiae and overall sweaty appearance.
Liquid Lunchers hang out a tad longer than the stoners if for no other reason than they are required to hit the 7-Eleven before coming here due to the simple fact Budweiser is undrinkable unless ice cold.
Junk Dumpers
Occasionally, some overalled grease monkey will try and dump the carcass of the latest piece-of-shit jalopy he’s gutted and stripped of all usable parts. One guy actually took the time to set the dead minivan he was ditching up on blocks so he could take the wheels. The neat thing about that particular incident is that I easily recognized the meticulous individual as the guy from two blocks over who runs a side business fixing lawnmowers in his garage. He was a bit surprised, I think, to see me at his door. He told me putting it there was only temporary and that he'd had every intention to come back and get it in a few says. Goober had obviously forgotten he’d removed all the damn wheels, but he wasn’t really giving me any resistance, so I decided it would be dickish of me to point out the holes in his story.
I don’t really get why people just dump cars. Last time I checked, most wrecking yards will come out and pick up the things if you’re just getting rid of them. Seems to me dumping them on a secluded street is just making extra work for everyone and putting yourself out there to be censured on your own front doorstep. Hell, people less civilized than me would more likely ignite some dog shit on your doorstep and call the junkyard themselves.
Exhibitionist Fornicators
You see them on sitcoms all the time. You know, those randy sex addicts who get the most aroused when they do it in public and are known to spontaneously pull into a quiet cul-de-sac and start getting it on right there in the parked car?
Yeah, those people don’t actually exist.
...is getting large. This isn't everything:
So Alex came home with us last night. He's still little confused and stressed, but he's starting to settle in. He had a couple of "accidents" last night--a poop right after we got him home, and he was trying to "mark" things. Probably due to stress as much as anything. We corrected him firmly each time, and have been praising him when he does his business outside. He tried to mark once in the house this morning, but hasn't had any accidents since, so I'm hoping he's slowly starting to get the idea that he only gets to go outside.
On the plus side, he slept quietly in his crate all night--he cried and scratched for maybe a minute when we put him in, then curled up and went to sleep and didn't bother us until Hector got up. We put his crate right next to Hector's bed--that seems to clam him right down, he likes being near Hector at all times. And today he was going into his crate all by himself (we leave the door open when we're home) to nap, so I think he's starting to feel safe in there.
Hector seems to like having him around, and he's good at establishing boundaries (like when Alex tried to mount him--Hector gave him what for in no uncertain terms.) And we left him crated alone when we went out for about 30 minutes today and he seemed fine. He has hardly eaten anything, but again that's probably due to stress. The cats ignore him, and he gives them a wide berth.
He was only neutered last week, so I'm confident a lot of the stud-related behaviour (marking, humping) will disappear soon. I am worried about his little ticker. A Grade 4 murmur is quite severe. Every so often I get second thoughts--like, this is a lot to have gotten ourselves into. But he's a lovely little dog, and is trying hard to please and understand what we want from him. He's smart, too--we should be able to train him to sit. We introduced him to stairs for the first time last night, and he figured it out right away--as soon as he saw Hector going up and down, he just followed. Now you'd think he's been climbing stairs his whole life!
With Fabio.
What's the closest thing you have to a time machine?
Submitted by Verisimilitude.
DVD sets of "Quantum Leap".
Oh boy!