You Can Plant It. You Can Help.
I was busy last night doing two things: buying plants and watching "So You Think You Can Dance." Here is the evidence of the SYTYCD writing. I don't have much to say about the plants. I don't know plants. Anything that I happen to grow is purely through dumb luck (or my mom dropping the plants off at my house saying "plant these.") We have a nice little patio and deck which was a botanical wonderland the first summer we lived here but last summer I never got around to buying plants because it seemed wasteful but I was jealous when I looked at everyone else's beautifully flowered porches. People in Chicago with places to plant get out of control since our summer lasts about 5 precious minutes so people like to make the most of it and go all-out. It didn't seem so hard, just going to Home Depot and buying some window boxes and plants to stick in 'em. (I also bought some of those hanging hook basket plants and even those are no-brainers). But I had a feeling I was supposed to do something very purposeful with these window boxes, like make a little scene that would react just right to the sunlight exposure we get from that side of the house (and I don't even know what it is--I mean I still can't figure out which direction our patio faces. (Let's see, if I go outside and turn right, that's toward the lake and that's east, so...) and grow long and beautiful and trail down and blossom. I ended up buying 3 boxes of geraniums and some other plant which I'm pretty sure were all meant to be little gift arrangements since they all had tiny American flags in them. I hope they don't die, not because I'll feel proud of my nurturing skills but I don't want to go back to Home Depot and face once again getting yelled at by a guy who was mad at me for trying to get into a parking spot that he was having a gay old time standing around in.
I also wrote about a movie where I didn't care for the third act.