The Summer of George

My hood

Hello, Summer of George. The fact that I don't have a picture posted doesn't mean I can't post, right?

I'm turning into Mr. Wilson. There are kids who play soccer in my front yard. There is an empty field next to my house (we live at a dead-end) that can accomodate probably thirty to forty full-on soccer matches. I'm willing to paint some lines and pay to have some nets installed, because these little turds play on the street in front of my house rather than the glorious, lush green fucking pasture that sits not even twenty feet away.

This means that their soccer ball spends 25-30% of its time in my yard, specifically in some flowers that I just planted. I've resorted to the dirty stare, after over a year now of just silently stewing.

And the worst part is that with every passing day, more kids start showing up. Last week, they left about thirty Italian Ice wrappers in the street, which, as you can guess as a brilliant reader with knowledge of the wind patterns in Northern Illinois, mostly ended up in my yard.

So today, there were five of them playing three different games. Two soccer balls and a basketball.

An aside: One of the kids rides a low-rider bicycle and refuses (refuses!) to ride it anywhere other than the direct middle of the street. Passing cars get staredowns, as if to say, The fuck you looking at.

So they're playing in front of my house just before I go on this long walk, listening to The Twilight Singers on my cassette player (took an hour and some real embarrassment at Office Max to rangle up two blank audio cassettes), which by the way if you don't own their new album (or his new album, shall we say) Powder Burns, you should really just go and find it somewhere.

So I walked for an hour or so cos the Nur was sleeping and the Ry was, too. And when I get back they're still there. And so I decide I'm going to water some plants/flowers and just let them know I'm there. So they're kicking the ball, going all out as usual, and they make this little chubby kid play goalie and just devastate him with line drives, and when he stops those they'll pound him with one lob and one line drive, and it just makes me long for the days when torture wasn't condoned publicly by a vice-president with "other priorities."

Not that these kids could even tell you what that vice-president's name is.

So one of them lines one right at the goalie and he makes this sort of stunning save, his arms outstretched. He catches the ball and in a sort of celebatory glee punts it full-force. Right towards me.

So I have the hose running, as I mentioned. And the ball lands about five feet from me. And instead of being the good neighbor and kicking it towards them or at least pretending to make an effort to help them out, I decide to turn this moment into a Gauntlet Thrown.

And I spray the ball with the hose for as long as it takes the kid to run across my yard to grab it.

Maybe that's wrong, but the Beast within all of us rejoiced.

posted by zk @ 8:01 PM