Springtime Ruminations

The smell of fresh cut grass is in the air!

Yesterday, I overheard two consecutive conversations about how much the speakers were looking forward to working in their yards and/or gardens. As the weather warms, most people relish the prospect of planting stuff, of applying tender loving care to lawns, flowers, and landscaping. As the days get longer and the world turns green, it's instinctive for people to want to bond with Nature by tilling the soil and enhancing the world's aesthetics through carefully-designed applications of horicultural skills.

But not me. And I suspect this provides us some insight as to why I'm single.

The first panel in the graphic above provides additional insight into the same question. (The remaining panels relate to the first one, but not to the remainder of today's topic. Can you deduce the connection between the frames? Answer below. Don't forget that you can click on the picture to see a larger version.)

Anyone who knows me well can attest to the fact that I'm not "normal." The well-known psychology expert Rocky Balboa would describe me as "mentally irregular." I happen to prefer the terms "unique" and "interesting", but the fact remains that my brain doesn't work like yours does. While this does not impede my ability to function, to have friends, and to hold down a job, it does make it statistically unlikely that I'll ever find a compatible woman. And it occasionally causes confusion at swim practice due to the fact that my definition of "fun" is not universally accepted. Oh well.

Anyway, the marigold and fertilizer displays at King Soopers got me to thinking about these things, so I thought I'd horrify you with additional insights into the non-standard world in which I live. Read on...if you dare.

• I don't particularly like the smell of grass. I don't enjoy mowing, spreading fertilizer, or using an edger. And though this confession may get my Manly Man ID card confiscated, I'll also admit that I do not get a thrill from using a weed whacker. I know that all guys are supposed to love power tools, but sorry...I just don't. The only exceptions are chainsaws, flamethrowers, and ice augers; and even then only when used recreationally.


• I'm not into building stuff. I suspect this stems from my hideous failure in the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby so many years ago, but the fact is that I seem to be lacking the handyman gene. My brother is an expert in all of that stuff, so I assume that he received my genetic allocation of construction skills. (It's no wonder my parents always liked him best.)
  
  Oh sure, I have done a limited number of successful home improvement projects over the years. And I'll admit that I did feel grand satisfaction in those few jobs that were completed without a trip to the emergency room. But if you give me a choice between wielding a hammer and pounding a computer keyboard, I'll opt for the data entry chore every time.


• I am oblivious to interior design. Bare apartment walls or expanses of vacant carpet do not bother me in the slightest, and I confess that I'm a mite bewildered by people who feel compelled to cover every inch of every surface with adornments. I am not opposed to artwork, especially if it inspires you in some way. (I'm thinking Jimi Hendrix or Farrah Fawcett posters, "Hang in there" cats, and the like.) But my underdeveloped sense of aesthetics leaves me unmoved by random displays of pottery, textiles, or shellacked agricultural products. Sorry.


• I don't get the appeal of Oprah, Dr. Phil, Justin Beiber, et al. I harbor no particular animosity towards them, I just don't grok their appeal. Instead, I find myself drawn to things that ensure a life of chastity, such as science fiction, slapstick, and corny parody.
  
  And that brings us to the graphic at the top of this post. I would really like to see the movie "John Carter", from which the first panel's image was taken. The previews did nothing at all to make me think it's a good movie...in fact, I'm expecting it to be horrible. But I loved the series of books it's based upon (written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the same guy who created Tarzan...who was played onscreen by champion swimmer Johnny Weismuller, etc etc), and therefore feel compelled to see it, regardless of its cinematic quality. But as much as I would like to make it a romantic date-night experience, what chick in her right mind would accompany me?
  
  (That's a rhetorical question, folks. Don't bother to respond. I can do the math myself.)

So, did you get the connection among the other graphics? They're all "Carters." The second frame features famed Presidential Brother Billy Carter, who had a brand of beer named after him, and died of pancreatic cancer in 1988. Frame three is Carter Pewterschmidt, father-in-law to Peter Griffin on the TV series "Family Guy." Fourth is country singer June Carter, who is probably most famous for being married to Johnny Cash. And finally, we have Baseball Hall-of-Fame catcher Gary Carter, who sadly died of brain cancer a few months ago.

And I guess our puzzle provides another pretty obvious example of why I can't get a date to see a movie about a guy who fistfights giant apes on Mars. My brain involuntarily does things like lumping country singers, cartoon characters, baseball players, and peanut farmers into a single category. Perhaps I could get some sympathy for the curse of having to deal with such randomly-firing synapses, but then I'd still have the whole "looks like Paul Sorvino with the flu" disadvantage to deal with. Sigh.

Anyway, you normal people definitely do have my admiration and respect. I shall continue to envy the sensorial joy you derive from your yardwork, etc, and I wish you an entire summer that overflows with the smells of greenery and plant life. Get outside to enjoy it, and have a great day!