It is snowing in Suburbia. Icy crystals are blowing across the driveway and drifting around the fence. The dogs love it, tunneling with their noses then coming in the house to snooze. Its kind of nice and peaceful, even if it is a little too cold.
No, it ain't bad at all.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
What have we here?
So having just shut down the Unconscionable Objector http://www.unconscionableobjector.blogspot.com/ I thought I'd try a different tack. Perhaps something closer to home, without the heaviness of national politics. Besides, I've always liked the title and this was an excuse to use it for nefarious purposes. There was a famous New Yorker cartoon of a sheik riding a lawn tractor that was simply titled 'Lawrence of Suburbia'. I always loved that cartoon. Hence the name.
Truth to tell, not much happens out here in the burbs. It’s sort of idyllic with nicely manicured lawns, lots of kids riding bicycles and well scrubbed Honda minivans. We are relieved that compared to our old house in the city there does not appear to be any heroin on the block and crime seems to be limited to kids parked on the cul de sac to make out - if you could even call that a crime. I did get a ticket once for blowing a stop sign but the magistrate let me off.
Since we moved here there's really been only one unseemly series of events, which was a little adultery scandal a few months back. It occurred between two families that live across the street from each other about five houses down and it resulted in neighbors taking sides and long-time friends not speaking to each other any more. Apparently there was some debate about which adulterer was more wrong (!?). One family built a six foot tall privacy fence apparently because they shared a property line with the offending tramp/spouse. Really good stuff. It almost had the makings of a Steely Dan song. "I crawl like a viper through these suburban streets...."
I briefly considered throwing some gasoline on this fire by adding some even more outrageous stories than the ones already floating around the development, you know, just to see what would happen, but my wife squelched this idea. Considering how interested everyone was in this little scandal I don't think it would have been to difficult to convince anyone that the Petersons around the corner were hosting cocaine fueled wife-swapping auctions. (They were. I swear.) Fiction, at least, could be stranger than truth.
Anyway, I'll have to see if I can regularly come up with exiting things to write about. I'm sure there's some good material here somewhere. I'll just have to find it.
Truth to tell, not much happens out here in the burbs. It’s sort of idyllic with nicely manicured lawns, lots of kids riding bicycles and well scrubbed Honda minivans. We are relieved that compared to our old house in the city there does not appear to be any heroin on the block and crime seems to be limited to kids parked on the cul de sac to make out - if you could even call that a crime. I did get a ticket once for blowing a stop sign but the magistrate let me off.
Since we moved here there's really been only one unseemly series of events, which was a little adultery scandal a few months back. It occurred between two families that live across the street from each other about five houses down and it resulted in neighbors taking sides and long-time friends not speaking to each other any more. Apparently there was some debate about which adulterer was more wrong (!?). One family built a six foot tall privacy fence apparently because they shared a property line with the offending tramp/spouse. Really good stuff. It almost had the makings of a Steely Dan song. "I crawl like a viper through these suburban streets...."
I briefly considered throwing some gasoline on this fire by adding some even more outrageous stories than the ones already floating around the development, you know, just to see what would happen, but my wife squelched this idea. Considering how interested everyone was in this little scandal I don't think it would have been to difficult to convince anyone that the Petersons around the corner were hosting cocaine fueled wife-swapping auctions. (They were. I swear.) Fiction, at least, could be stranger than truth.
Anyway, I'll have to see if I can regularly come up with exiting things to write about. I'm sure there's some good material here somewhere. I'll just have to find it.
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