live from sublurbia

So the good thing about all this (yes, really) is that our bigoted graffiti scrawlers are also stupid. “Smart” enough to put their hatred readable where the kids are, “smart” enough to put it on property that it seems as if no one cares about, “smart” enough to go back and do it in the same area again …

But dumb enough to put it on my washable paint. I knew they were idiots, but that is fantastically stupid. I only wish my house overlooked where the hate scrawlers are scrawling so I could put up a camera … or flood light. :P

There’s another good thing come from this. After the original paint job was hit again, the crossing guard made sure to call me over to report it to me (he either saw me painting it over the first time or spoke to the community patrol officer who took the initial reports and directs our traffic am/pm around the school). This is progress. I HATE GRAFFITI. And not because of what it does to my precious property values – what it does to our souls. Not quite the broken window theory, but I do believe that not deleting the message and reinforcing its wrongness quickly is really really bad, especially for kids who already may soak up enough damage from a hateful world.

Gang scrawls are bad, too, don’t get me wrong, but I hope most kids wouldn’t take it to heart. This crap – directed at them or their class mates. Not acceptable. And a big ye gods to ALL of the tacit approvers of this crap, who ignored it, who didn’t report it, and who just let it stay there because it was “someone else’s” problem.

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I’ve got my rain barrel up and running just in time for the tremendous rainstorms. Yay! Now if only I had a better spot for it. Not getting a lot of roof run off at the front of the gable. :(

However, the sides of the house are getting soaked. I’ve got a big tub out there, catching water that also doubles as a mud-rinsing sink. So, why not move it? But the rain barrel just looks good at the front.

So I got a bucket and moved the water from the side of the house to the rain barrel one gallon at a time. Ridiculous, I know, but at least it’s getting filled …

And I’ve got the back garden beds cleaned out. They’re falling apart but they should last me one more season. I’ve layered in some veggie potting soil and just spent this lovely cool sixty-degree morning transplanting in some vines and fruits.

Yay rainy season, bring it on! (But no more tornado warnings, kthx!)

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Odd coming from someone who has doodled in the past. Or graffitied if you want to look at it that way. Compared to what I grew up with, though, I’d call it doodling. So if you ever come across an Algebra 1 text book from the state of Texas with “This Space For Rent” doodled in pencil, well, that was me.

I’m still pissed about the whole neighborhood graffiti situation. I get it, we don’t have a graffiti “task force” and our community hasn’t really needed one. But no one called the cops? Seriously? Or the HOA, seriously? Until it was on the community center and someone bothered?

That’s what upsets me as much as the graffiti. If it were gang markers, I’d be aware of it but not as insistent on getting it covered asap. That can be waved away with “oh, its stupid disrespectful people whose small minds think that’s okay”. But this was a series of hateful scrawls, targeted at the people in our neighborhood, and the next neighborhood over, who walk to our school. The next neighborhood over, who someone of my acquaintance had voiced to me had turned into a “ghetto”.

Earth to sublurbia: cars older than three years old and extended families living together are not GHETTO. A neighborhood with more people of color than white people is not GHETTO. People who take the bus are not GHETTO. People speaking languages other than English are not GHETTO.

Condoms and discarded drug vials in the gutter? Graffiti that takes up more wall space than the original paint job on the building? Put there with “permission” from the owner of the building? Drug deals in the back alley? Discarded stolen goods dumped in your back yard? Don’t talk to me about an affordable neighborhood filled with people you never grew up seeing and living with and watching on TV being GHETTO.

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Some days I really am annoyed by the existence of the Home Owner’s Association. I had to go over hill and over dale trying to get my roof tiles approved (an infinitesimal shade of difference from the originals, no longer available), and even then it took fourty forevers.

But there has to be some kind of benefit, right? They got a few roofs fixed (finally) but not much else. And some of my fellow owners are, frankly, weird. We had hot rods screeching through the neighborhood one night, leaving rubber tire marks on the road. Someone wanted to sue … someone … and make that someone pay to clean it up. Never mind that it wears off eventually, it was harshing their property values (granted, this was at the height of the insane property bubble).

My management company was pretty useful when our electrical box and light poles were hit with gang-like graffiti. Neighbor called, reported it to the cops, reported it to the HOA, reported it to the electric company. Eventually the electric company totally cleaned and repainted the box, even removing the ugly old pile of cement the builder had left on there (that I’d jokingly threatened to paint green to match the box). if I’d known they’d do that much I would have graffitied and reported it myself (kidding). Continue Reading »

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I grew up in the desert, and if there was ever anything slimy on the ground (rare) it was usually a good thing and we were to leave it be. Or help it to the shade.

Slimy usually meant earthworms – and earthworms are our friends. As well as good fishing bait.

Walking the kids to school yesterday, I saw a strange and creepy slimy thing. As we’ve had enough ickies in the house, I let it be, merely pointing it out for a quick science lesson, then popped home to see what it was. Long, striped, with a spade-shaped head (hammer head). Land Planairian, I know for next time, squish it dead. I ran back with a cup of microwaved water, but it had left the sidewalk by the time I got there.

But I know for next time, no good can come of them.

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I’ve got some things around that are quite trashy. I’m pretty pack ratty, as I’ve admitted before, but I think I am and can stay a far pace away from hoarding … but you never know.

I’ve got tea bag wrappers. No reason to save them, but they smell so nice. And I came up with a use for them. But not the time to use them in.

I’ve got old mailing envelopes. Some can be reused, some can’t. The “can’ts” can be reused in other ways, but I want to do more research on Tyvek before I get into it. I had hoped to have a nice long piece about Tyvek tonight, but I was thwarted by bad javascript. :( I understand DuPont wants to capture information about their users, but should I really have to fill out tons of personal information to read a PDF about the Tyvek life cycle? Continue Reading »

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And it’s way, way too quiet. I’d been hoping the roofer would be out today, finishing my leaky roof, but it’s after two and still no materials have been delivered. Sigh.

Meantime, I’m crocking up some beans and some enchilada sauce for dinner tonight. Mmmm, enchiladas. Just like mom used to make, and now I make my way. I’m sure as the years go on I’ll develop my own quirks for the recipe, but for now, I’m sticking to as close to her formula as given (the basic formula – the long version is a multi-page treatise on various chilies and their preparation into the fire-nectar of the buds.

We have a first tomato! I bought some sad looking plants a couple weeks back and they look to be in shock (I’ve not yet transplanted them). Despite that, I’ve got one tomato, red and ripe and ready to eat – except for the small matter of its freckles. Hot tar splashed on the poor thing, so I guess it’s unfit to eat. But I’ll compost it back for other garden karma, maybe among the flowers.

Otherwise, it’s a nice lazy day near the end of summer. Within the next day we’ll be swarming with another pile of cousins and I can hardly wait until they arrive.

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FYI, South and West county to be mosquito sprayed Friday night. If you have veggies and rain barrels you’d rather not be sprayed, cover them up.

Don’t forget to cover or keep circulating rain barrels and other water sources, or continue other methods of mosquito abatement. Reading Mother Earth News this month reminds me how much my childhood fowl did to keep the bugs down, but we’re not zoned for that kind of help.

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But I don’t know anything yet. Won’t for weeks and weeks, if ever. Well, if they don’t call, they’re just not that into me. But you don’t know if you don’t try. And I found a Twitter page that might be useful for updates. :)

But I’m busy reliving the adventure part of traveling to NYC. :) Re-reading the YA books I grew up with, watching a second remake of The Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankweiler, and emailing everyone I met there. They just showed a scene shot in the Metropolitan Museum of Art; kind of makes me wish I’d dawdled there sometime instead of working the entire trip. Sometime I’ll take a leisurely trip there; but helping plan the invasion of big chunks of family here reminds me that there are many things to explore here.

Of the things I enjoyed, I think I liked the variety of Mexican food, the art supply stores and the Highline Park most of all. In a few years the kids will be old enough to read my little Manhattan-specific reading list (Remember me to Harold Square!) and maybe we’ll either plan a trip to re-create that adventure or plan one of our own.

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I recently heard the sound of water running while out in the garden. I looked over my shoulder towards the sound, hidden, as I knew it would be, by the monolithic barrier that had appeared a few months ago. Large, healthy new branches peeked shyly over the fence of the adjoining yard, and everything clicked: The landscapers had been! The landscapers had been! My neighbor’s spa and patio was complete! Free mulch and sod for me!

I scampered down to the edge of their property to the zone traditionally set aside for things no longer wanted by its original owner. Sod! Mulch! Fresh! Free! And it was all mine, all mine! I made plans to fix the bare patch I’m sure the Home Obsessers Association is itching to send a note about, I plotted a spot to pile some mulch for my next compost pile, calculated how to get it from their house to mine, and which owner to ask and how to ask, depending on who appeared first. Continue Reading »

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