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Friday, November 18, 2011

The Mysterious Egg Meteors, or That's No Way to Make an Omelet

You see that? Over there? It’s the weekend again, isn’t it? Sure, one might say, it looks a lot like the last time there was a Saturday and Sunday directly in front of us, and yet who can tell?

Who can say?

Me! I’m to say! Or more accurately – accurately! – my iPod. You knew that, right? That my iPod, set on “shuffle” and played during my Friday morning’s commute has the red-hot power of prophecy?

It’s true. Shhhh.

Treat Me Like Your Mother by The Dead Weather
Burn by Deep Purple
September by Earth Wind & Fire
Wooden Ships by Crosby Stills & Nash
Can’t Stand Me Now by The Libertines
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised by Gil Scott-Heron
The Puzzle by Brother Ali

Hmmm. Hardship, pain, loss and broken hearts, all under the guise of making you a stronger person. Yuck.

Let the record reflect that I am against it.

But let us return to our other Friday diversion, the serial posting of the Beverage-y Hillbillies, the lurching humanoids who moved in four houses down and who quickly became a topic of neighborhood bewilderment.

As a precursor, I live in Nordeast Minneapolis, a neighborhood of artists, working folk, retired people, people who walk their dogs and plant flowers. Our lawns are small, and, for the most part, neat. There are bars and restaurants and churches and various shops in walking distance; and in a land that became a state in 1858, we are proud of the houses in our neighborhood built between 1898 and 1904. We are secretaries and writers, musicians and plumbers, programmers and delivery men.

And we’re a fairly tolerant group.

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this week’s installment of The Beverage-y Hillbillies.

First, they moved in.

Then they set themselves up as the place to go for severely discounted and recently liberated home stereo speakers.

Then they showed you just how easy it is to be a giving person.

Today’s episode?

The Mysterious Egg Meteors

It is a summer’s day like any summer’s day in Minneapolis. In other words, it is warm; and we are pitifully thankful. We’re an easy group to impress from April to August, whereupon it will get ridiculously hot.

And then we lose our perspective.

We had not yet reached that point.

I live across the street from a park; and on the weekends, I feel it behooves me to pop over there, pick up some garbage, check for bums, that sort of thing. We don’t have a big bum problem in our park, although I did once throw away the world’s smelliest pillow.

I grab a plastic bag, my trusty stick-with-a-nail-in-it, and set out to rid the world of unsightly trash.

And who should I run into, just four houses down, than Boris, Number One Square-Headed Son in a family of square-headed sons. He is sitting on the hood of a car.

“Hey!” he calls.

“Hey,” I say.

“You got any money?”

“Yes,” I say, walking.

“Can I have some?”


“Pssssss,” he hisses, as if there had been an agreement earlier that I would be supplying him with cash.

I walk on.

“Let me know if you find anything interesting,” he calls out.

I keep walking. Sure, I think, I'll call ya.

Now, I’ve found on these walks, as has been previously disclosed, the world’s smelliest pillow. I’ve also found an iPod engraved “To Olivia, with all my love, Daddy”, large numbers of beer cans, plastic cups and plates, and a cell phone. But I’d yet to find eggs.

But there they are, less than a block away. Dozens and dozens of eggs, most of them smashed on cars, some on houses. Some are splattered impotently in the streets, others lie crushed and gooey on the sidewalk.

I am furious.

I call the police, who, in bored tones, tell me there have been several calls already. They are on their way.

I cut my garbage-walk short and go home the way I’d come. Boris is still on the car.

He looks pleased with himself.

“Find anything interesting?” he sneers.

“Not really,” I say. I am so angry I am dizzy. I’m a scary person when I’m angry – best to keep moving.

“Nothing?” he presses. He is smiling in a this-neighborhood-is-mine sort of way.

He thinks he runs this place.

I stop abruptly, turn back.

“Well now that ya mention it, someone did a really crappy job of making breakfast,” I snap, bright stars of anger wreathing my head, “but most likely that person’s got some sort of mental defect and won’t be around much longer. Ya gotta feel sorry for people that stupid.”

And while he stares, I turn and walk. And when I get home, I sit down in front of the computer. I’m going to contact their landlord, just as soon as I can figure out who it is.

It’s a tolerant neighborhood. Not a stupid one.


Glen said...

I'm glad you don't have a big bum problem!

Tolerant but not stupid - great line

R. Jacob said...

It is days like this that I am glad you don't carry a sidearm attached to those thin shapely thighs. There would be a call in no particular order for a doctor, lawyer, coroner, and a hazmat crew.

Pearl said...

Glen, I just realized how that can be read.
:-) Nice.

R., Ha! It's a good thing I'm not violent. Well. Not REALLY violent, anyway. :-)

Denise said...

I live in a tolerant and stupid neighborhood. The only way the landlord would do anything is because he would have to clean it up. He is very lazy.

I love your witty statement about breakfast when you are about to explode. I don't think I could have kept my cool like that.

mybabyjohn/Delores said...

Get a group of neighbours together and twice a day congregate on the hillbillys lawn and sing hyms and pray for them. Guaranteed, they'll move on. Just to make things go a little faster, once a day have someone knock on their door toting a bible and do a little preaching. On Sundays tune in to the sermon of the day..outside..with amplifiers. Nothing can shift hillbillys like a neighbourhood of religious nuts. It takes a village to raise the roof.

Pearl said...

Denise, I can be "cutting" when angry. Not always proud of that!

Delores, I LOVE that last line: It takes a village to raise the roof. That's fantastic.

Eva Gallant said...

What a great line you threw at square-head! Love that brain of yours!

Symdaddy said...

In my rather decadent (gonna have to google that word) youth, I participated in many an egg strike.

The most memorable being when I was, (pursed lips, prolonged oooooo sound) when I was about the age of 16.

Curiously enough it involved an American gentleman called Fred, or Ted, Breem (exchange teacher at our school). He had a drawl that had us a-hankerin' after a swift dose of 'John Wayne' films.

He wasn't however a very nice man. He grumbled and complained endlessly about how claustrophobic our lil' 'ol homeland was.

On his last day with us, we knew he intended to return his hire car so, armed with eggs and tomatoes, we decorated it for him.

The look on his face and his furious recital of swear words we'd never even heard of before made detention well worth it.

Pearl said...

Eva, and would you believe I have two more stories of these guys?!

Sym, I never egged anything, but I "TP"ed some very large, stately trees in my youth. I hate to think how hard that was to clean up... Wait.
An American taught a Welsh youth obscenities he'd never heard?! :-) I don't believe it.

Tom G. said...

I am loving the adventures of the Beveragy Hillbilly's. I can't wait for next week's installment.

vanilla said...

Tolerant, but not stupid. Oh, that we could all adopt this outlook!

Symdaddy said...

"An American taught a Welsh youth obscenities he'd never heard?! :-) I don't believe it."

You insult me, woman! I am Northumbrian through and through!

Pearl said...

Tom G., :-)

vanilla, I'm thinking of having a tee-shirt made.

Sym, :-) Just a little knickle between your ribs. (Oh, how I wish I had a joke with the word "Northumbrian" in it...)

nixabn said...

Having studied eggamatology in college, did you happen to notice what KIND of eggs they were?

Pearl said...

nixabn, :-) I believe they were of the chicken variety.

Leenie said...

I only think of cool comebacks like that at 2 a.m. Long, long after the event is over. Way to go, Pearl.

Silliyak said...

I have, in the past, taken great pride in my verbal comeback abilities and my passive aggressive planning, but as I read these comments and your post, I am humbled, and I bow to you all.

jenny_o said...

Burn!!! What a great comeback.

When I get that angry I either can't talk or I cry. Neither of which I'm going for. Do you give lessons?

Suze said...

Diggin' 'Wooden Ships.'

vanilla said...

Oh, Pearl what a great idea!


Belle said...

First, I admire how you to over to the park and clean it up. Second, I admire your restraint with that guy. Third, I hope they move away.

Gigi said...

Very nicely done, Pearl. I wouldn't have been able to tell him off so "nicely." As it is I'm having a hard enough time biting my tongue.

David L Macaulay said...

well err your postings are always refreshingly quirky and offbeat Pearl

River said...

Over here episodes of egg throwing are usually done by "schoolies", those who have completed year 12 and are having their week of high jinks before the final exams week. Or maybe it's after the exams, I'm not sure on this.
Could this be the case where you are?
Are you so sure it was Boris? I'm inclined to agree with you, but......I hesitate to place blame. Because I fear retribution of course.

Dianne said...

I read this several times because I kept finding new lines and images that I adored

I'm so glad you visited me so that I could find you

Susan in the Boonies said...

Boris really IS Badenov.
And I don't want to get in your way when you're upset.
I knew this already, but, it's always good to have it confirmed.

mystic29 said...

Such a waste of eggs, anyway, egg whites bleach car paint if left there too long, not a good idea. Speaking of bad ideas and things that should not be left in public.. I see your serial commenter/tormenter is back! Care to translate? :-)

Pat said...

Someone should go and have a lie down before she makes a bigger ass of herself.

The Jules said...

Excellent comeback.

I like to remind such people that often you can't make an omelette without breaking kneecaps.

Macy said...

Good luck with the neighbours from hell Pearl. Round about here we had a spate of car burning last year. It's upsetting.

And like Pat says - "Michelle" does seem to be making an arse of herself rather than anyone else

Linda O'Connell said...

What a bunch of hard boiled rotten eggs living four doors down. You sure cracked this one Pearl, fried him with your words. Probably scrambled what little brain cells he has. Love it!

Pat Tillett said...

For the first time in my life I live in a quiet and drama free nieghborhood, but I've lived in some doozies also. Some might have even said that I was part of the problem.