Conflict Resolution

Ladies and gentleman, my long local litter nightmare is over.


I imagine you were hoping I've gotten past my outrage at having advertisements brazenly tossed upon my front lawn. I am here to tell you today that I have indeed moved on. Judging from the above photo, attention has been paid and my message has been received.

You can see exactly where that plastic bag was dumped this morning. On my driveway. A little close to the edge of the grass, I suppose, but it's not on the lawn. It's certainly possible that the bag landed behind my car after the delivery driver tossed it at its rear windshield, hoping to spray shattered glass all over my driveway. But ultimately, his package of crap fell harmlessly to the pavement. And the final result is one I'm willing to accept.

I appreciate your patience in allowing me this indulgence. I'm sure there were more entertaining things to read across the internet. This past week is likely not one I will recall when discussing the life stories and lessons that have been chronicled on this blog. But I think the underlying theme is one worthy of posterity. A voice was heard. Casualties were avoided. Power to the people.

You Have Been Warned, Litterer

I tried to be nice. I tried to be civil. I kept my complaints restricted to this blog, rather than letting them fuel physical action. But it appears that I should've been more demonstrative, more emphatic in stating my concerns. Once again, I have professionally printed litter on my lawn. And I am not happy.


This photo was taken this morning, as I was bringing my trash and recyclables to the curb for collection. I wanted to tell myself that the flash of blue on my grass was a trick of sun and dew, but I knew better. My landscape had been defiled again. Perhaps even worse, it happened while I was sleeping, while my guard was down.

You can see how far the bag is from my driveway. Clearly, this bag was tossed on my front lawn with callous disregard. (You can also see that the grass needs to be cut. I will be working on that later today. I probably would've started earlier, had it not been necessary to retrieve plastic bags stuffed full of newsprint dross from my lawn.)

I tried to be cool about this, but now, this appears to be personal. Next weekend, I will sleep on my lawn, waiting for this brazen litterer to strike again. And maybe I won't cut my grass, so the blades are tall, and my presence is hidden. I'll go to the army surplus store this week and buy camouflaged attire to further disguise my intent.

And then, when the dreck dumper drives by, either stopping at my driveway or slowing down to toss that sack out of his or her car window, I will rise. And I will strike. I will pounce like an animal whose cage door was left open. I'm-a smack you 'cross the arms and face with a rake, mofo. And I will enjoy it.

If 12-Year Old Paperboys Can Do It, So Can You

If you live in Ann Arbor, you might know exactly what I'm going to complain about. (Well, maybe not, if you're in an apartment, rather than a house or condo. I don't know.) And I'm sure plenty of other people who live elsewhere will be able to relate to something like this. I'm sure it depends on the neighborhood or county you live in, or whatever. But every week, we get this "Food, Fun, & Fitness" collection of recipes, articles, and ads. I believe it's produced by the fine people at the Ann Arbor News.

Depending on my mood, I'll open the long, plastic bag and pull out the stuff inside, thinking I'll find something marginally worthwhile. Or maybe I just needed something to occupy my brain for two minutes. But most of the time, I take the bag and toss it in the recycling bin without looking. It's just #@$%ing junk. And I didn't ask for it.

But I could accept this. At least to a point. Over the last couple of weeks, however, whomever is "delivering" these plastic bags of paper waste has been throwing them onto my lawn (which, after last weekend, is finally short enough that I could see these bags), which is totally unacceptable. This offends me on two levels. Not just as a homeowner, but also as a former paperboy.

You throw the newspaper onto the driveway or the porch. 13-year-old kids know this. If it's not on the driveway or the porch, it's not a newspaper (or whatever the hell this collection of junk is), it's #@$%ing litter.

Is it really much different than my neighbor finishing his pizza, and then throwing the box onto my lawn? Okay, one's a grease-stained container for food, and the other is an assembly of print materials in a bag, but I'd have to pick either one off of the grass after it was tossed over there.

Do not #@$% with me, delivery boy or girl of this stuff. I've been doing a lot of yard work out in the sun, my head is baked, and I am most likely holding some sort of landscaping tool that could be used as a weapon. You have been warned. And I am watching.

Today's PSA: When sending Christmas cards, think "succinct"

At the risk of coming off as a serious @$$hole, something has come to my attention over the past couple of weeks that I strongly feel needs to be addressed.

We need to come together, as a community, as a society, as a humanity, to help each other out with this apparently growing trend that needs to be quashed before it's adopted by the culture-at-large. To steal a gig from Bill Maher, we need to make a New Rule.

When composing a letter to include with your Christmas cards, if you cannot keep your thoughts, stories, and recaps restricted to one page, in 700 words or less, typed with a readable 12-point font, you are no longer allowed to send such rambling discourses to your family and friends.

If this offends anyone, I sincerely apologize. I'm not talking about you; I'm really talking about someone else.

I know some of us enjoy catching up with people they haven't corresponded with in months or years. Maybe you enjoy writing out such thoughtfully detailed memoirs. Others among you might legitimately appreciate reading these chronicles. But I know there are some of us who just toss these epic dead scrolls in the garbage.

But I'm going to presume to speak for many others, such as myself, who feel compelled to say, "Enough already!" We don't need to know every single thing that happened to you over the past year. Okay, you took four trips. That's great. But maybe one stood out from the rest; how about focusing on that particular excursion? If your pet was neutered or spayed, that's notable. But have you ever considered that he or she might not want their bizness sent out across the country?

And do I even need to mention that the thing should be kept down to one page? If you are stapling pages of your Christmas letter together, consider sticking your finger into the device and stapling some sense into yourself, okay?)

We're a busier people these days. Leisure time is at a premium. Some of us would like to devote some of that time to reading other things, like books, newspapers, or magazines. Others might prefer to watch TV, listen to music, or surf the internet. A number of us might even enjoy doing all of those at the same time in a multi-tasking, Dagwood sandwich of leisure pursuits. And plenty of people out there want to devote their free time to their families. Do you really want to take people away from their spouses and children?

You know, maybe you could compose different editions of the Christmas card scroll for different people. Sure, your family probably wants to hear more. So maybe they get the fully loaded special edition. The director's cut, if you will. And then friends - especially if they're really more friends of your spouse than you - can receive the summarized, Cliff Notes edition. We don't need all of the extras.

(As a footnote, I'd like to follow up on that last point. Again, maybe some people that you're sending the Holiday Emancipation Proclamation to would like to know how your significant other is doing, since we probably only know you because he or she married you. So if you insist upon defying this New Rule that I'm betting a substantial majority of your peers will agree upon, and drafting a 1,000-word, two-page letter, typed in 8-point font, is it too much to ask for at least one paragraph devoted to the other members of your household?)

So how about it, Tolstoy? How about giving us all a present next holiday season and being judicious with some editing? Some of us would like to get to the books we received as Christmas gifts.

You have to wear a costume!

Can you complain about what you get in your trick-or-treat bag if you DON'T EVEN WEAR A COSTUME??

This is the punk-ass brat I was faced with last night, trying to be a nice guy because I felt bad about kids going door-to-door and no one giving 'em candy. I initially tried to avoid the trick-or-treaters by hiding in the bathroom whenever I heard knocking. But I had a paper to work on, so I wasn't going to stay in there for two hours. (If only I had mexican for lunch - HA!) So back to the computer I went. Never mind that I had the lights dimmed and stayed away from the windows. Apparently, I needed a "I have no candy, please stop knocking and go away" sign on my door.

Of course, I would've knocked on such a door when I was a kid too. And it was remembering lil' Ian that made me open the door and greet the kids. Unfortunately, I didn't have much. Here's a pack of gum, little ballerina. How about a handful of Jolly Ranchers for you, Mr. Samurai? And for you, Officer Riot Cop (did a parent think of that one?), here's some toffee candy a friend gave me as a gift. Happy Halloween! They were happy, I felt good - and I was done for the night.

Except another batch of kids followed before I could close the door, go back to working on my paper, and yell "NO CANDY" whenever someone knocked. And these were the kids that had no costumes. They were just running around in plainclothes, with plastic Walmart bags open, looking for free candy. Is that the kind of effort that should be rewarded?

But after emptying my bags of Jolly Ranchers and toffee candies, all I'm left with is... granola bars. Hey, excuse me for wanting to up the health content for our children! I'd take a Nature Valley Oats & Honey bar most days over a Snickers! (Of course, I'm old and eat Grape Nuts for breakfast...) Hey, I know it's lame! So I toss granola bars in the last two kids' bags, which elicits an "Aw, man!" from one. The other one began to walk away, then stepped back and asked if he could get trade his granola bar for Jolly Ranchers instead.

How did I handle this?

"Kid, you don't even have a costume on. You don't get to trade. Happy Halloween!" And I shut the door. Hours later, I even finished that paper.

No eggs splattered against my window this morning...