If you're a Houstonian you went through Hurricane Ike. That was a complete cluster, to say the least. The perfect representation of despair during this whole ordeal, for me, was seeing a bunch of River Oaksy ladies and their housekeepers begrudgingly standing in line at 8 am outside of Whole Foods waiting to buy stuffed pheasant or whatever the hell you eat when you make more money than sense.
Anyway, I started thinking about food in an urban setting. We get food shipped to us daily. That's how cities work. We don't have time to till the soil and plant a turnip because we are rushing to get to pilates class (those pilates instructors do not screw around beeteedubs, they will start that class with or without you).
This got me thinking real hard. I really hate lines. I won't stand in them for more than a few minutes. I get real mad and then I lose that important filter that sits between your brain and your mouth and then I end up on COPS again and that's not how I want to live my life. I need a plan that keeps me out of lines forever.
I need a sustainable lifestyle.
So, I decided to start a garden. Up until about a year ago I've had a brown thumb. I'm ridiculously proud of the six plants I've maintained for the last 12 months. It's part of the Rosemary Home Tour. "Here's the driveway. Here's the place where we keep the bed. Here's where you go pee. LOOK AT THIS FERN! LOOOOOK AT IT! ARE YOU LOOKING? I TOTALLY WATER IT EVERYDAY."
Now I feel confident to spread out into the yard area. I found a website telling me how easy it is to create a raised garden. I was feeling good. I head over to Home Depot and get the following:
4 bags of soil
3 2x4
150 feet of hose
a hoe/rake type thing
I get it home and eyeball the 4x4 area and start taking the hoe/rake device to the grass. Once I turned it up it was pretty easy. Then I read the part on the website where you "till" the soil. That part sucks. I had to kneel down in the dirt and chop roots out of the ground. I had no idea. I started in on it with an enthusiasm only reserved for delusional maniacs. Ten minutes later I was coated in dirt and snuffling. Tears of hatred running down my face, I swore obscenities at the innocent dirt that probably have never been uttered. My hatchet was flopping around lazily in my fist as I aimed it defeatedly at it's target. I felt like Barbara after she flees the farmhouse in the 1990 version of Night of the Living Dead. I got my second wind somewhere around punching the chain link fence and throwing a half filled water bottle at a cheerful squirrel. Finally, I de-rooted that mess. Then I took the hatchet and made ruts for the 2x4's to go in.
The next day I stopped
over at Wabash Feed Store and picked up cauliflower, oregeno, banana pepper, collard greens, feverfiew, cilantro, onions, and basil.
One week
later, everything is not dead. I take that as a good sign.
You're so lucky. I've done all the work for you. I've sat through countless hours of horror movies throughout my life. I'm like Joel on the Satellite of Love except I can't relax because I have to worry about how I eat and sleep and I have no robot friends, and also, I watched all of the movies I've watched without being forced to by an evil scientist. But other than that -- totally Joel-like. I eat horror movies up like Smarties of crappiness. (The especially awful movies being white Smarties). It's sick.
