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I wanted to share one story about a local lawn, and then an even stranger one came back from the dead. We will return to that latter theme next, and I'll save the nicer lawn story for the end.
I settled a case yesterday. Not one of my biggest but def among my weirdest.
A few months ago, a new client called with an odd tale. He'd come home one day to discover those yellow PESTICIDE APPLICATION signs decorating his lawn.
(Pesticide applicators are reqiuired to post these after a spray, and we'll often see them on lawns during walkies, lawns we then move by quickly. Not sure if they're just a New York Thing.)
Just one problem: he hadn't ordered any spraying or other landscraping on his premises, and he has dogs that are seriously allergic to the shit.
This is what makes the signs useful: they had the name of the company on them. (Some I've seen turn them into coupons so you can poison your own pets and get 10 percent off.) Company sprayed the wrong house. Right number, wrong street- several miles from the right one.
I wrote and suggested they turn it over to their insurance before my client turned it over to the Hate Engine of Social Media. They took that suggestion, and after a few weeks of delay and more than a little insurance adjuster snark, in time terms were agreed upon, and the settlement document arrived in my email yesterday. Amount was right, terms were generally agreeable.
( Oh go on, guess what they got wrong: ) But hey, they're getting better!
----
The blasphemy arose earlier, when these two different yet to-me-themed photos crawled across my feed:
On the left, a perfectly done snow sculpture in the style of South America's Christ the Redeemer. It was so perfect, somebody had to ruin it:
Wait until the sun comes out, watch it melt, and then see if on the third day it rises from the puddle.
I have no idea why my other friend posted the one on the right. I can send you the full instructions if you ever need them. Hopefully you won't, but call ahead just in case. It seemed like an awful lot of bother, so I simply replied,
Or change your name to Jesus and just wait three days.
Mind you, these posts and my replies came about five minutes apart. I know it's not especially Christmassy, but then we just finished Wednesday- where among the Addams Family, gravedigging is a major form of entertainment. Especially from the inside of the grave.
----
Yet I am not without the Spirit. I am even planning a visit to a friend's just-debuted play called The Birth of Santa, a mix of the Scrooge and Kringle origin stories. It took a small display to focus that Christmas cheer, though, and here, once again, it was outside on somebody's lawn.
Even back when Mom and Dad here were doing the full-on Santa and Jesus schtick at Christmas largely for Emily's benefit, our outdoor decorations were pretty minimal. Some neighbors then, and even more now, literally go over the top with displays that would put Clark Griswold to shame.
This one, around the corner this year, is among my favorites of all time. It’s simple and conveys the message as merrily and brightly as anything producing a $2000 National Grid electric bill: Snoopy’s doghouse.
THAT’s what Christmas is all about: Charlie Brown.
I settled a case yesterday. Not one of my biggest but def among my weirdest.
A few months ago, a new client called with an odd tale. He'd come home one day to discover those yellow PESTICIDE APPLICATION signs decorating his lawn.
(Pesticide applicators are reqiuired to post these after a spray, and we'll often see them on lawns during walkies, lawns we then move by quickly. Not sure if they're just a New York Thing.)
Just one problem: he hadn't ordered any spraying or other landscraping on his premises, and he has dogs that are seriously allergic to the shit.
This is what makes the signs useful: they had the name of the company on them. (Some I've seen turn them into coupons so you can poison your own pets and get 10 percent off.) Company sprayed the wrong house. Right number, wrong street- several miles from the right one.
I wrote and suggested they turn it over to their insurance before my client turned it over to the Hate Engine of Social Media. They took that suggestion, and after a few weeks of delay and more than a little insurance adjuster snark, in time terms were agreed upon, and the settlement document arrived in my email yesterday. Amount was right, terms were generally agreeable.
( Oh go on, guess what they got wrong: ) But hey, they're getting better!
----
The blasphemy arose earlier, when these two different yet to-me-themed photos crawled across my feed:
On the left, a perfectly done snow sculpture in the style of South America's Christ the Redeemer. It was so perfect, somebody had to ruin it:
Wait until the sun comes out, watch it melt, and then see if on the third day it rises from the puddle.
I have no idea why my other friend posted the one on the right. I can send you the full instructions if you ever need them. Hopefully you won't, but call ahead just in case. It seemed like an awful lot of bother, so I simply replied,
Or change your name to Jesus and just wait three days.
Mind you, these posts and my replies came about five minutes apart. I know it's not especially Christmassy, but then we just finished Wednesday- where among the Addams Family, gravedigging is a major form of entertainment. Especially from the inside of the grave.
----
Yet I am not without the Spirit. I am even planning a visit to a friend's just-debuted play called The Birth of Santa, a mix of the Scrooge and Kringle origin stories. It took a small display to focus that Christmas cheer, though, and here, once again, it was outside on somebody's lawn.
Even back when Mom and Dad here were doing the full-on Santa and Jesus schtick at Christmas largely for Emily's benefit, our outdoor decorations were pretty minimal. Some neighbors then, and even more now, literally go over the top with displays that would put Clark Griswold to shame.
This one, around the corner this year, is among my favorites of all time. It’s simple and conveys the message as merrily and brightly as anything producing a $2000 National Grid electric bill: Snoopy’s doghouse.
THAT’s what Christmas is all about: Charlie Brown.