Lyin' on My Back, Watchin' TV
While AHM was sick—which we decided had somethin' to do with the recent tragedy in Washington since the barfs hit her barely a week after the official wake—we spent a lot of time on the bed watchin' television. Considerin' every channel was broadcastin' the demolition administration in the makin', she got hooked on Home & Garden Television. (We just went along 'cause she had the remote and no one had the nerve to try stealin' it.) Anyway, it was sorta' like watchin' American Idol auditions non-stop. Not that we ever watched that show. (Well, okay, we did a few times, but the pups' improptu sing-alongs didn't add a thing to the sound track so we had to give up.)
But that week showed us all just how we ended up with that pile of doo-dah in the the Oval Office. I can't imagine findin' a bigger collection of helpless, hopeless, lazy, whiny people—'cept in a votin' booth last November. Every last one of 'em is doin' their best Vincent Price imitation from The Fly—("Help me…help me…")—with a dash Jerry Maquire ("Show me the makeover!").
F'instance. On one gardenin' show, a couple of twenty-somethin' twits begged the host to tell them what to do 'bout a bunch of juniper bushes along their walk. ("They're spiky and prickly and we don't like them.") 'Scuse me? Get a terrier. We'll have 'em ripped out in no time, 'specially if ya' drop a fe-lyin' or two in the middle of 'em first. Or…and here's a novel idea that never seemed to occur to the fools…get a shovel and dig 'em up yourself.
Then there's the programs featurin' the space-challenged who just can't figure out that twenty-seven foot, over-stuffed, black-leather sofa/recliner/Titanic wanne-be planted in front of the 64-inch teevee isn't quite the thing for a twelve by twelve condo livin' room. (Personally I like those things—it's like livin' with a giant chew toy—'til it starts blockin' the route to the food bowl.) Anyway, the owners are always so surprised when the host/decorator tells 'em it's gotta' go. Wow. Geometry is hard.
On the other paw, there are the spoiled brats lookin' for a new house and yowlin' 'bout not likin' the color of the walls. Ya' just wanna' slap 'em outside the head with a loaded paint brush. And the people tryin' to sell their places while lettin' the house fe-lyin' lounge on the kitchen counters are just as bad, 'less the fe-lying's there to prove there's enough room to take a swing or two.
The trendy slang is good for a howl, though. Everything has to "pop," as in "Wow! That fourteen foot orange wall makes this room 'pop'." Yeah. Right. (I'm thankin' the dog god my eyesight is color-impaired.) And ya' can't forget the holy grail of kitchens—Stainless Steel Appliances. Sleek and shiny and just waitin' for a canine with mirror issues. They have no clue what snotty dog noses (or kid hands) can do to a stainless steel finish…
Finally there are the Pretentious Im-Provers—liberals all. In fairness, ya' never quite know who's to blame for this stuff—the homeowners who decided their place should be the only Roman Coliseum in the neighborhood or the designers who talked 'em into it. Two things are always prominent in these scenarios—Stone, with a capital "S," and A Water Feature, which usually takes the form of a koi pond, aka fe-lyin' happy-huntin'-grounds. That water business gets stuck in almost every landscapin' show, which I can't figure. I've got just one word for 'em—mosquitoes.
By the time those Pretentious Im-Provers are done, a perfectly good grassy yard suitable for squirrel huntin' and fe-lying tacklin' has been stoned, bricked, pebbled, benched, trellised, and barbecued out of existence. And they still manage to cram in A Water Feature.
Now I'm not sure those people are a good sample of the average American. I am guessin' they all voted for The Mutt 'cause now that they've wasted their savings and equity on improvements the next thing they'll be wantin' is a mortgage bailout.
posted by Harrison at 10:28 PM