The Beverage-y Hillbillies: Wherein I Tattle

The weekend loometh, my friends. Once again, we stand on the cusp of the weekend, a precarious and potentially sharp-edged place. Will I eat more Christmas cookies than I share? Will I finally vacuum the living room?

And what about Naomi?

Fear not! For as is well known in these parts, i.e., this particular blog, my iPod, set on “shuffle” and played during my morning’s commute, has prophetic qualities.

The iPod sees all, tells some.

Shhhh. Let’s listen.

Miles Behind by Medeski Scofield Martin & Wood
Tighten Up by The Bamboos
One Step Beyond by Madness
Ramble On by Led Zeppelin
Thank You (Falettinme be Mice Elf Agin) by Sly and the Family Stone
Space Truckin’ by Deep Purple
Rudie Can’t Fail by The Clash

And there you have it. Not the answers I was looking for, but the iPod, she moves in mysterious ways. My personal take on it? Stick to your to-do list, visit at least one friend, and for cryin’ out loud, look at all you have! Really, we’re doing quite well…



Let’s see now. We’ve been amusing ourselves the last five weeks or so with the tales of the Beverage-y Hillbillies, a motley group of State-assisted renters down the block whose brief foray into my and my neighbors’ lives has been commemorated in both verse and song (witness the ever-popular fireside sing-along known locally as “Them Local Folk-als Appear to be Yokels, or Square-Headed Terry’s Got Yer Maw”).

Today’s tale of deception and droopy pants?

I’m Telling On You!

When we first met the Beverage-y Hillbillies (not their real name), they had just moved in, a collection of mattresses and over-sized TVs, a family who quickly set up a ping-pong table on the sidewalk and a makeshift bar (AKA a “cooler”) in the front yard.

From there, we learned of the eldest son’s entrepreneurial spirit, his willingness to ask for your help and/or your cash,his incursion into the egg-hurling sports, and his venture into the high-stakes world of gas-station-parking-lot drug distribution.

Boris, as we came to refer to him, had become the turd in the Northeast Minneapolis punchbowl.

And I’d had enough.

There are websites, if you know where to look, that will tell you who owns rental property. In short order, I’d found his landlords.

Dear Mr. Tranh and Associates,

It may come as some surprise to you to find that the people you have rented to at 1136 Garfield have become a topic of heated discussion in the neighborhood.

The new sod you put in at the beginning of the summer? A memory. It is now dirt, the only remaining grass being under the couch that has been in the front yard since June.

The new cement steps leading up to the porch? If we can judge by the evidence before us, it appears a 30-gallon keg was dropped on it, taking out a good-sized chunk. The keg’s dropping, however, does not appear to have affected the keg itself, which is still laying in the front yard. Next to the couch.

I recall you adding a new screen door to the front of the house in May. While the hinges are still there, the door itself is not. Makes you wonder what happened to it.

The neighborhood has been inundated with requests from your tenants for money, rides to the store, and inquiries regarding our desire to “score some green”. I am sure that this is not what Tranh and Associates had intended when this property was rented out, but that is what you’ve got.

This is a good neighborhood. I would hate to have to go door-to-door to let my neighbors know your name and address, as I am sure that your peace of mind is as important to you as it is to us.

Please contact me at the number listed below as soon as you can. I believe we can work through this amicably.

Hugs and Kisses,

Pearl

I received a call from Mr. Tranh less than a week later, who promptly fired his “rental management company” and started eviction proceedings.

I love a man of action.

And I can’t wait to see the move-out party.