yard sale
Yesterday on our way out of Duluth I drove us across the sand bar and showed J the houses where I've always thought it would be good to live. They're run-down looking except for a few; for anyone who's never been there but has been to the outer banks of North Carolina, it's very similar house-wise, meaning the actual houses and not the row-condo troll containers where the gray garbage can provided by the city looks like a miniuature version of the dwelling itself, prompting the thought that if the former could contain the latter, the scenery would be much improved.One of the good houses was having a yard sale. A lady at the yard sale said she and her husband were moving to a warmer climate because he was retired now, and the house was for sale but that no one had bought it yet. I asked what was beyond the fence in the back and she said the beach. I went back there for a look and it's literally between three and five baseball throws away from the port, for someone with a good arm. Dude. Right there. [insert valley girl mouth noise that I can't devise adequate onomatopoeia for.]
I asked her the asking price and she said 459. That's so much money that in order to fight off the depression that was coming I started having to fantasize about all the ways I could make 459 thousand dollars. I decided to look up automatic transmissions when I got home and see if I could come up with a way to improve them. Little did I know how totally fucking ingenious the planetary gear system (that's what it's called. maybe you knew that but I didn't.) is.
So I basically need 459,000 dollars. That's not all the money in the world by any means, but it sure is a hell of a lot for a broke-ass like myself. If anyone knows where I can get that much let me know.
I really want only a few things in life. One of them is a boat at my house. Someday I want to walk out my door and get in a boat and read the paper out on the water. And I want a cup of coffee in a little cup holder on that boat. And if I think the fish might bite, and I decide to take a couple of casts, that option will be there as well. And yesterday I saw where I can do that. There was even a boat lying in the sand behind the house, not being given a shit about. Ugh.
It gained the impressive distinction of most depressing yard sale ever been to, and I've seen some doozies. A stinky, cramped car load of screaming children nursing corn syrup beverages, faces masks of tears and panic, many stains on each of their stretched, hand-me-down shirts while mom obliviously dawdles with the other partial-denture-candidate cigarette cows in front of a bin of broken toys? Nah. Try your dream house out, for far more than you can possibly pay. I wonder who's going to wind up in that house. I hope it's not some asshole. Rest assured, I'll be looking into it some day.
Duluth is the city I can't forget. It's like my strange twin, and while the time on my life runs out, I feel it pulsating from far away, wondering where I am.
But enough of that. Time for the funny internet garbage!
President Bush: Sell the Ranch: an open letter
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