What Could Be More American Than Doing Yard Work? Not Loverboy.

Just a quick post today folks as you head into the weekend everybody's been working for (Try not to go off the deep end. If you do you'll need a second chance. Oh.). Let's talk about yard work. I love yard work. Mowing. Mulching. Trimming. It's something of a passion of mine. Oh. Wait…No it's not.

I have a tough time enjoying an activity that is commonly assigned to inmates during their stretch in the county lockup. When was the last time you had this conversation with your wife?

You: "Hey, honey, do you want to go to the movies tonight?"
Wife: "No way. Let's go down in the basement and bang out a few license plates".
You: "Brilliant idea! That sounds like much more fun. While we're at it, let's put on our orange jump suits and pick up trash along the highway".

Unless "bang out a few license plates" is a euphemism for something else, you have never had that conversation in your life. So, forgive me if I don't enjoy yard work. (Also, forgive me if you don't like reading something that looks like a play – you know, like Bill Shakespeare. I've got a couple sections in here tonight that are written that way. It wasn't planned. It just happened. It ain't "to be or not to be", but it's better than any skit Anthony Michael Hall was in on Saturday Night Live).

Despite my best instincts to the contrary, yard work was done this evening and I wasn't "loving every minute of it". We bought mulch a few months ago but didn't get any of it out until tonight. Between rain, baseball, tennis and countless other excuses (legitimate and otherwise) it was a chore that remained undone for far too long. I had to start working this item off the list to Keep A Happy Wife.

It was hot. Hot as a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover. And to keep with the Loverboy theme…The Kid Is Hot Tonite. (By the way, Loverboy was on the "American Summer Concert Series" today on Fox & Friends. Do they realize that Loverboy is not from America? They are Canadian. Who's on next week? Men at Work? Ah-ha?)

To those who do lawn maintenance and landscaping as a profession, I mean no disrespect by my loathing of yard work. If you do this work every day and you do it well, then my sweat-soaked hat is off to you. First, it is hard work and that is an honorable thing. Second, the yard maintenance profession is full of entrepreneurs. Warren Buffet, General Electric and Time Warner aren't doing leveraged buy-outs of lawn mowing conglomerates. I bet Ted Turner doesn't even mow his own yard (Is he even still alive? I don't remember and I'm too tired to Wiki it). An industry composed entirely of entrepreneurs is to be saluted. Ain't that America? (Although, many in that industry, like Loverboy, aren't from America…but that is America, too.).

So…where was I? Oh, yeah. It was hot. While all of the mulch didn't get out (we had 50 bags), the front yard is done and that is a good dent in it. Good enough to impress the Wife a bit and ease my guilt over playing golf tomorrow and then going to the track afterwards (By the way, Belmont picks are in the Triple Take on Sports section).

If you plan on putting out mulch anytime soon (and if you are sane, you've already had it done for months), I've put together a list of Mulching Pit Falls to avoid and make this cruel and unusual task a bit more bearable.


  1. Mulch Foot: This is a condition where you dump a bag of much on your foot getting mulch all in your shoe and sock. If you find yourself with a case of "Mulch Feet" you should just quit and go back inside (but take off your shoes before you go in the house).



Moments before crashing next door.



2. Left Eye Blind: No, this isn't a new alternative rock band. This occurs when sweat drips down your forehead and into your left eye. I don't seem to have that much trouble with my right eye. Your results may vary.

3. Wilbur Wright: A "Wilbur Wright" is when a breeze kicks up and carries an empty bag of mulch into the neighbor's yard. It's called a "Willbur Wright" because the bag goes about as far as the Wright Brothers first flight went (and Wilbur was the pilot). Plus you couldn't call something this annoying an "Orville Wright". He was the cool Wright brother. Chicks dug Orville.

Chick at bar: "So, your name is Orville. Just like that popcorn guy".
Orville: "Yes, it is".
Chick at bar: "Well, what do you do Orville? Do you make popcorn, too"?
Orville: "Oh, never mind what I do. Let's talk about you. So tell me….what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this".
Wilbur (interrupts): "We make bicycles. We are going to make a bicycle fly".
Chick at bar: "Make a bicycle fly? Who do you guys think you are? E.T."?
Ironically, Wilbur was a terrible wingman.

4. Rake Face: This is pretty much what it sounds like. Try not to hit yourself in the face with a rake. It will leave a mark and stings significantly more than Left Eye Blind and is more difficult to treat (and explain) than Mulch Foot.

5. Stroke: This, too, is pretty much what it sounds like. Don't have a stroke. Did I mention it was hot out? I don't think I had a stroke. Of course, I may be typing a blog that reads like I tried to transcribe the lyrics as sung on an R.E.M. album and just not realize it.

Enough for yard work. Enjoy your weekend. If you play your cards right, maybe you'll get to "bang out a few license plates" (wink, wink – or as the 1981 Loverboy album would say "get lucky").