dirt under my nails

After a winter’s worth of neglect, I did some yard work this weekend. Was all set to get to work weeding the back yard this morning when the new lawn guys showed up. We rent this house, and lawn maintenance was included with the deal. Only issue is, our landlord is a bit…unwilling to pay what most would consider a normal fee for such a large yard. So we’re on our fourth or fifth crew after just a year and a half of living here.

In what was either a fit of passive-aggression or something symptomatic of “that boy ain’t right,” one of the yard crew guys took a weed-eater to our succulents. They in no way resemble weeds, so I don’t know what the dude was thinking. I planted them last fall, and James carefully covered them every time we had a freeze this winter, so we are a bit attached to them. James ran outside to let the guy know WE LIKE THOSE, and the dude sort of shrugged and moved on.

Once they left, I surveyed the damage. Only one plant was mangled beyond redemption. The others should survive. Of course the dead, crunchy brown monkey grass remained untouched and is still upright against the fence, having escaped the deadly whacking. If that crew returns (odds are, they will not), we’ll have to set up lawn chairs and keep an eye on things. Like a couple of old people. You gotta do what you can to protect yo’ shit.

In other news, I was interviewed about Lanford Wilson (I took a playwriting class from him in 2005) for a blog on the Chronicle’s website. I can’t believe I say “really cool” so often. There’s a reason I like WRITING plays and WRITING blog posts and WRITING emails and WRITING for a living. I can edit the stupid stuff out. Not saying I always do, just that I can.

Anyway. I meant well. Guess phone interviews aren’t my preferred milieu.