still haven't eaten a snowball though

This weekend I ate crabs, swam in a pool a few times, went to a festival and a half, saw a lightning bug, went to a drive-in, and listened to Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young with the windows down.

It's so official right now.

the rats were a no-show

Memorial Day weekend, a time when a Baltimorean's fancy turns to crabs.

For the official kickoff to summer, an epic birthday crab feast for one of my roommates was in the works. At our house, we frequently enjoy evenings outside on our deck, but we rarely venture down to the patio area, which is basically a jungle ruled by the rats. They stick to their territory, and we to ours. The rules are simple.

However, in order to have a decent crab feast with room to swing a mallet, the jungle needed to be tamed, and the rats challenged. Now don't get me wrong; we're not messy people. We have a tightly-fitting trash can lid and we don't leave any junk out for the rats. However, we do share a fence with a notorious group of male Hopkins students who choose to carpet their backyard with empty-ish cans of Keystone Light. They also sometimes adorn it with large bags of trash from what I must assume, judging by the sounds of Cali Swag District and spontaneous cheers through the walls, are killer parties.

Our own backyard is a lovely brick patio with a gorgeous dogwood tree and planters full of overgrown shrubbery lining the fence. Therein lies the problem. After feasting next door, the weary rats seek a place of comfort, a place to gather with their kind. Our planter boxes offer the space in which to create a vast network of underground tunnels, perfect for sleeping off a Keystone Light-induced stupor or planning future capers in peace. Basically, our two houses together form a veritable bed and breakfast for the rabbit-sized rodents.

The job of reclaiming our own backyard had not been tackled in the 2 years we've lived here, but armed with a borrowed pair of shears, a pushbroom, and my trusty set of Ikea tools, I was ready to take on the challenge. I'm sure it's just as overwhelming to read about as it was to do, so I've broken it down into a few manageable episodes.

round 1: shrubbery

There's something satisfying about hacking away at plants without regard for technique or finished product. So that's what I did. I kept going until the yard looked like a haircut gone horribly wrong. Then I knew I had succeeded. It may look ridiculous, but at least now we no longer have to fight the branches for space.

Anna: 1, backyard: 0

before...

...and after

round 2: lion fountain

Once the brush was cleared, it became apparent that we had a lion fountain in the corner. Huh. How awesome would it be to have a lion elegantly spitting water in the corner during our crab feast? Wicked awesome, that's how.

So, I set about to figure out how to hook up the fountain to the electrical outlet. After tipping the whole thing over and taking it apart, I determined there was no pump at all. Maybe it functioned without electricity, using gravity to power a siphon. Well, I only know of one way to start a siphon. I'll spare you the details, but it does involve me getting up close and personal with the lion. Shudder. I hope no one was watching from any nearby balconies.

In the end, I realized there was no way to make the fountain work, as we were probably just missing the pump altogether. That was a waste of an hour.

Anna: 1, backyard: 1

round 3: lighting

You can't pick a crab in the dark, so the next task was adding some lighting. Apparently it requires 12 steps and a pair of pliers to change each light bulb in our backyard. I am not even including the step of 'buy new light bulbs.' There were 5 bulbs total, and each one was surrounded by some sort of locked cage, as if light bulb theft were a huge problem in our neighborhood.

In conclusion, eating in the dark is romantic and underrated. But seriously, I changed them all.

Anna: 2, backyard:1

the final score

At last I emerged victorious. The patio was swept and well-lit, the bushes had been relegated to their spots along the fence, the lion sat motionless yet regally in the corner, and the rats were probably lying in wait, ready to swipe the carefully-picked crab meat right off of the classifieds, seagull style.

The feast was a success, and our patio is finally usable for what is sure to be the best post-apocalyptic summer ever. I wouldn't have been able to do it without some crustacean motivation.

say blogging one more time

I may be blogging less on this site, since I am now blogging here, on the North Baltimore Patch website. Feel free to check it out, but it's a local news site, so it may be a little less relevant to those of you in...you know, Minnesota and California.

Local fame! Not exactly, but maybe someday. Now if I only I could figure out how to actually get paid for my writing...

I guarantee it

(A version of the following can be found here. I just want to save it in both places in case they ever decide to delete all my work.)

I first heard of one in Baltimore County. Soon, I saw one with my own eyes on Erdman Avenue, and then on Falls Road.

Judgment Day billboards.

In a matter of months, these billboards predicting the beginning of the apocalypse were everywhere. People were handing out tracts. And finally, while enjoying a lunch with friends in Canton one afternoon, I saw a caravan of five trucks pass slowly by, each of whose sides were emblazoned with, Have you heard the awesome news? Judgment Day: May 21, 2011. The Bible guarantees it!

I've got to say, I'm a little disappointed that for all the money this one religious group has spent on nationwide marketing, there is little to no hysteria from the general public. I want a bit of Y2K hype. I want some of that will-it-won't-it drama. I want a reason to stock my basement with hand sanitizer and toilet paper, but more so a reason to gather with friends and strangers on an appointed date for some manufactured tension and feasting.

I understand though; there's no need for the hype. The Y2K panic was born out of our nation's dependence on technology, something much more tangible to most of us than religion. People simply don't believe in this predicted day of reckoning, and those who do believe also have faith they will be lifted up into Heaven at that time. If that's the case, there's no point in selling 'Judgment Day Emergency Preparedness' kits or 'I Survived May 21st' T-shirts. There is simply no market for them.

But really, do we need to believe it? We have a long history in this country of commercializing religious holidays that don't necessarily hold significance for the majority of the population. I see no reason why there shouldn't be pre-Judgment Day drink specials at the bars on May 20th and all-day street festivals on the 21st, punctuated with cheers and toasts when 6:00 pm fails to bring the prophesied catastrophic earthquake. Since when do we need to be coerced into celebration for celebration's sake?

I, for one, will find some way to mark the occasion, however small it may be. Let me know if you want to join. Together we can bask in the fact (although it may come as no surprise) that we are still alive and well.

not candid

The other day, I went for a walk and a drive, and I was caught on video by 4 different people in 4 different places. I thought this was weird. Why was everyone filming at the same time? Is there some sort of city-wide video project I didn't know about? Or is it a new sense I have acquired?