Don’t Forget Your Porn Bucket

So, my husband works in hardwood flooring. A customer comes into the store, and the following exchange takes place between the customer and Ed’s co-worker. We’ll call the co-worker Adam and the customer Greg.

Adam: What can we do for ya?

Greg: Do y’all have any porn buckets?

Adam (stares): Do we have what?

Greg: Porn buckets. You got any?

Adam: I…I don’t understand. What?

Greg: PORRRRN buckets.

Adam: Dude, this is hardwood (stifles snort) flooring. We don’t have anything about porn here.

Greg: Flooring! Yes! That’s why I’m here — I need porn buckets!

Adam: Um…okay. What do you want to…um…do with these buckets?

Greg: Pour the finish in the bucket and then pour it over the floor.

Adam: Oh. Pouring buckets?

Greg: Yeah! Porn buckets!

________

Don’t do drugs, kids.

Best hardwood floor drawing EVAR.

Best hardwood floor drawing EVAR.

In Which I Think My Navel Is Helpful

Hile, inklings!

If you’ve been paying attention (and I know you have, because that’s just the kind of sedulous inklings you are), you know that I generally post something on this blog every Tuesday and Thursday —

— and you’ll have noticed that I missed Thursday last week.

You’ll also have noticed that today is Wednesday. At least, it’s already/still Wednesday where I live.

Wednesday usually means no courtcan.com blogpost, except that today it does mean a courtcan.com blogpost.

“I’m explaining to you because you look nervous.”

(Odds bodkins, but I love that line.)

“That’s not the point!”
“So, what is the point?”
“The point is…the point is…I’ve forgotten the point.” (Love those ones, too.)

The point is, I’m blogging off-schedule, and I’m enjoying it, and I’m doing it today because I wanted to share links with you.

These links are to posts I’ve written for friend and colleague Aaron’s Pogue’s Unstressed Syllables. I want to share these particular ones here, because as I re-read them, I feel encouraged and enlivened.

Ha! That sounds awfully navel-gazer-ish. ; ) But I’m not talking about energizement based on my own writing. I’m talking about remembering how people and ponderings brightened a corner of my writing world. If there’s a chance such blogpost remembrances can brighten someone else’s corner, I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to share those remembrances here.

So. Here they are in random order:

1. What I Learned About Writing This Week…from Twitter, in which I showcase some favorite tweets that rally us all to be more passionate humans and bolder writers.

2. What I Learned About Writing This Week…from My Writers Tribe, in which, for the first time, I chronicle the pitfalls and possibilities of being around people who don’t think my writerly brain qualifies as mental ward material.

3. What I Learned About Writing This Week…from Getting Edited — oh, the horror? Just how bad is it for someone to spirit your baby (READ: novel) away and vivisect it?

4. What I Learned About Writing This Week…from Taking a Shower
Even writers have to get clean sometimes. (Yes, we must needs leave the house occasionally and be presentable so as not to frighten the children.) But what about the purification of the writer’s soul? Our spirits need uncluttering, too. How’s about a fresh start to everything?

5. What I Learned About Writing This Week…from Observation, Redux
Watch them when they don’t know you’re looking. It’s fascinating, and it will open your heart to the poignant beauty in everyone around you.

So click through, read, enjoy, ponder, commiserate, decry, invigorate, challenge, rejoice. Leave comments over there, or come back here and share your questions, comments, concerns, and cookies! I’d love to hear from you. : )

Have a cramazing day!

The Vulgarians Evoke Something in My Breast

This is a rant.  You’ve been warned.

Never mind the goo. That's just my skin melting.

 So, here in Oklahoma, we just had the hottest July on record. As of today — on which the official high was 108º, although, as you can see, my iPhone insists it was 111 — there’s a statewide burn ban. I’m not too broken up about that, since I’m not currently in campfire mode and never in the habit of burning my trash.

But what does burn me up — har de har har — are the pristine, emerald green lawns I viewed when I made a trip to Vulgaria this afternoon.

What, you might be asking yourself, is Vulgaria?

Well, I’ll tell you, darling reader. Vulgaria is my term for human dwellings so ridiculously, wastefully ostentatious that they’re just vulgar.

I mean, come on — you gotta have turrets on your mansion? Really?

Actually, I’m a total hypocrite here. I love the turrets. If I had money for a mansion, you better believe I’d want it to have turrets. Two, as a matter of fact. Maybe even three. And a bastion here and there. If you don’t know what that is, I’m just gonna to let you keep thinking it’s something obscene, because I feel snarky and you have Wikipedia.

😉

Anyway, I toured a little slice of Vulgaria in North OKC this evening. The husband, who works for a hardwood flooring wholesaler, had made a delivery there and knew I’d appreciate the architecture. Because he knows I’m a sucker for a good turret. We drove in through the exit because the entrance gate was closed. What can I say — we’re rebels.

The husband was right: I loved the architecture. It evoked all the classic beauty of Italy, the slight mystery of the English countryside, and the hominess of colonial American hearths. The masonry was perfect with its intentional haphazard look, and the turrets rose quite majestically, indeed. Each house evoked in my breast* a deeper, more fond sentiment than the last.

But I wasn’t so fond of their lawns.

You see, all of their lawns looked to have grown in lush, green Ireland — not blistering hot Oklahoma. And several home owners had decided to run their sprinklers.

After it rained this afternoon.

Granted, it wasn’t much rain. From what I’ve researched, it was officially 0.33 inches. That’s not a lot. Especially when you’re in a drought.

But still.

The Vulgarians decided to ignore the fact that there was water falling from the sky and, instead, get water from a hose and put it on their yards. Why, you ask, is this a big deal?

Actually, I suppose some of you are asking yourselves why I’m making a big deal out of any of this at all.

Well, lemme tell ya.

This came off the intarwebz somewhere. I hope that's okay. If not, let me know. ; )

There’s this thing called Lake Hefner. It’s a body of water smack dab in the middle of OKC. The lake is where the Vulgarians are getting the water for their emerald lawns.

That lake is also the place where my drinking water comes from.

When I was at the lake two days ago, the water line was about 150 feet from shore.

So.

Maybe I don’t understand how utilities work. Maybe the City of Oklahoma City has done all that’s necessary by leaving messages on everyone’s voicemail only to water lawns on odd-numbered days if your address is odd-numbered, even days if your address is even. Maybe I’m begrudging the Vulgarians their prize-winning grass for no other reason than that I can’t afford to water the lawn of my rent house.

Maybe I’m just being snarky for no reason at all.

But I keep thinking about that distant water line at Lake Hefner. I’m remembering the Wishing Well Water Walk I participated in a couple of years ago. I’m thinking about how money for turrets and pretty lawns could be going to help people. I’m pondering the fact that, considering the national debt, every U.S. citizen carries an average debt of $46,712.00 — and people still care to spend money on what their grass looks like.

I’m shutting off the water while I soap up in the shower. It’s not much, but it makes me feel better.

*No. You may not evoke anything. So stop thinking that. ; )