Many months ago I had a girl do me up some landscape plans. She wasn't just any girl. She was a highly trained, fully authorized landscape architect girl. Not cheap, but reasonable enough, I thought.
I have, as Dave Barry would say, the artistic sense of mayonnaise. When I look at a blank front yard with no trees, bushes, flowers or grass, nothing happens. Nothing. I don't have a single idea what would look nice. Or what wouldn't. Not one. Such things do not occur in my cranium. They just don't.
So I have this plot that Landscape Girl did, which I'm sure will look just fine, seein' as how she was highly trained and fully authorized and all. And I have maybe enough money to have the front yard done. Maybe. Forget the back. I have.
This thing is 17" x 22", in color, and I want about four copies of it so that I can get some estimates from some highly trained fully authorized landscaper dudes. I don't have access to any kind of copier that will handle anything that big, so I try the reprographics place where I used to have photo work done in a previous life. They are closed on Saturday. So I try Kinko's. What the hell? Well, it's not just Kinko's anymore. It turned into FedExKinko's while I wasn't looking. FedExKinko's can do "oversize" color copies, but boy are they proud of them. $10 per square foot. $26 per copy. $104 plus tax for four of them. $111, or so, for a minute's work. Those four-color toner cartridges must be mighty expensive. More likely it's a nuisance charge to keep low-profit-margin bozos who only want four copies (like me) from coming back. I settled for black and white. I'm going to call the reprographics place Monday just for giggles. Maybe I'm just out-of-touch with the world of large full color copies. Or maybe FedExKinko's is a major rip. We'll see.
. . .
TC, it turns out, is in CA and has survived a bone marrow transplant. Shitty ex-acquaintance that I am, I hadn't thought to ask after her until a long-unheard-from mutual friend called and asked for her number yesterday. Of course, until she got sick, I had taken a solemn vow never to speak to the woman again. Still, I feel like I should be a little more sociable, given the circumstances.
Apparently the last sister in the queue turned out to be a suitable donor. Good thing she had six or seven brothers and sisters to choose from. I was adopted when I was four months old and am not genetically related to anyone I've ever actually met, so I guess it would be shit-creek-city for me if I ever found myself in a similar situation. Never thought about that before. How about we think about something else?
. . .
In fact, why don't we attempt a tax return? That'll take the old mind off anything else for a few hours.