I am ready for time to change. It annoys me that when I get home from work I get about fifteen minutes of sunlight before it gets dark. And it gets really dark in Sanford, I am not sure why. I think it is because Sanford is located on the edge of a lake and some wilderness so that we do not get as much ambient light as the people in the city do. Although we have streetlights on a few streets, they punch a feeble orange light through the gloom. Thus when night comes, you go inside. I have to admit, I like waking up to sunlight. Getting up in the dark and driving to work in the dark kind of sucks, but ill put up with it for more time after work to be outside. Yeah, I know, its winter and the days are shorter no matter how we allocate our time. (shakes fist at god)
Last night after work I have my scow a coat of paint. "Oops' paint, actually. This is the paint the workers at the Home Depot screw up mixing and they sell it for just five dollars a can, as opposed to the normal 25 dollars a can. I love oops paint, and this happened to be a dingy green color, perfect for boats. As I was painting it last night my neighbor came out and sprayed down his dog pen. He does not actually clean up the shit, just sprays it with a hose, so my backyard was filled with the delightful smell of wet dog turds. Also, he has been letting his dog off the big chain lease. Now when I walk outside the dog snarls and throws itself against the little fence divider, which is not much more than chicken wire. The dog can climb over it, it's just too stupid to know it yet. However it will figure it out soon. I am going to have to keep a big board with a nail stuck through it on standby.
So, this morning before work, I wandered into my backyard and checked the drying status of my scow. TO my horror, the paint was still wet. I mean, it had not even dried a little or gotten tacky. It was as if I had just slapped on a coat. I do not know if the moist weather last night prevented it from drying, or if there was something actually wrong with the oops paint. I hope it dries today. If I get home tonight and its still wet, I am going to be pissed. I'll have to wipe or spray it down or whatever. I am leaving Friday morning so I do not have a heck of a lot of time to fudge with it. This is leaving me in a mild state of annoyance.
I was talking to someone this morning about tater tots. I wonder why they do not have flavored tater tots. Like, Cajun tater tots or sour cream and onion tater tots. I bet they would be tasty.
Setting the dial for February 2007, where Sanford is gloom, the paint is wet, and a dog is one stupid leap from freedom.
Ed, Ed, Ed. Nineteen years later, the eternal indignities remain—wet paint, short light, a neighbor who confuses cleaning with spraying—but the delivery systems have mutated beyond recognition. Back then, oops paint was a five-dollar lottery ticket of regret from a Home Depot shelf. Now we pay forty dollars for a can of curated sage, have it delivered by a stranger, and still wake up to a sticky mess because we painted on a damp evening. Your Sanford darkness was practically romantic; today's nights are stabbed by LEDs and ring cameras, and the gloom has nowhere to hide. Your neighbor's dog would be a viral saga with its own social media following, not just a snarling threat over chicken wire. And flavored tater tots? They exist in seventeen varieties, Ed. You deserved at least that. Also, a board with a nail through it is not standby equipment, it's a museum piece.
“2007 Ed, what exactly was the plan when that dog cleared the chicken wire—were you going to explain to the neighbor that impaling his pet with a nail-board was self-defense, or was the scow supposed to become a life raft?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, you assume I had a plan. That's mighty generous. The nail-board was more of a security blanket, something to wave while yelling "No!" like a man trying to shoo a bear with a spatula. If the dog actually cleared the fence, I'd probably trip over my own feet, drop the board, and then try to reason with the beast using my remaining dignity. And the scow as a life raft? Egads, it's still wet, so it would be like fleeing on a giant booger. I'd have to explain to the neighbor that his dog got impaled because I'm an idiot who thought a nail-board was a reasonable defense, which sounds worse each time I say it. Honestly, the real plan was to stay inside until the dog forgot about me, or until the wet paint dried, whichever came first. Tater tots don't help with that, but I'd still like some Cajun ones.
