I hate mowing the yard for multiple reasons. First, it aggravates my allergies. If you come up to me and shove a handful of grass up my nose, I'll probably sneeze at you. Second, I never get to mow in a pleasant environment. The very best case scenario for mowing the yard is that it's hot, the mower keeps flinging rocks at my legs, and I'm covered in St. Augustine. The worst case is all of the above, plus neighborhood ruffians throwing hubcaps and rotten cantaloupe at me.
Also, it's such a futile act. No matter how many times I mow or how well of a job I do, I know that I'll be out there, a couple of weeks later, mowing it again. I am Sisyphus, the lawn mower is my boulder, and the mountain is the approach of Winter. However, my mountain isn't as useful as a regular mountain, because Winter lasts approximately 45 minutes in Texas. Somewhere in the afterlife, Camus is kicking himself for being born too early to document my absurd fate.
I always thought that when I had a house of my own, I would kill all of the grass immediately. I'd place a classified ad that said I had a great, free dumping ground for toxic waste, and one or two dumptrucks later, my problem would be solved. Also, I'd probably die shortly thereafter from the radiation; I've weighed mowing vs. death several times and I'm comfortable with the choice.
Now, Laura won't let me do any of that. I talk about it a lot and she likes to bring up the fact that she pays half the rent. Well, I pay the other half, so half of the lawn should be mine to kill however I want. I can keep the vegicide to the back yard, I tell her, but I've yet to sway here.
This year, it's been awfully dry here in Austin, as any old man could tell you. As a result, all of our grass is dead. This pleases me, but not as much as I thought. I completely forgot just how brittle dead grass is; I have dainty feet so it's hard to run around bare foot. Also, without the lush cover, it's a lot harder to hide the dog manure in the back yard. I've dreamt of a dead yard for over a decade now, and while it's good (Actual Powell Scale Quotient: month's supply of Nutter Butters), it's not great (Idealized Powell Scale Quotient: army of wizards at my command). Camus would have something to say about all of this.
Posted by Cody at August 21, 2006 6:00 PM