Is Phil O'Dendron Irish?

I feel the same about yard work as I do about haircuts. I don't like either, although for different reasons. When it comes to my hair, I just don't like anybody touching my head. My skull must be made of some kind of semi-soft material, because the least amount of pressure and I get a headache. The only other explanation that I can come up with is that my brain is way too big. As for the yard work, it's just hot, and buggy, and hot, and messy, and hot, and full of thorns. I'm still carrying some kind of sticker in my thumb from cleaning out Mark's tomato patch/death camp. It's because of those things that I hadn't taken care of either the hair or the yard lately. The yard hadn't been touched since before we went to Chicago, and as for my hair, I finally got that cut about a week ago.

I think it's the atmosphere here in South Florida. The heat and humidity just seem to sap all the energy and ambition out of you. I look out onto the yard and I see foot high weeds with Philodendron vines crawling all over everything. It's obvious the grounds of Casa Alan need attention. The next thing I know, I'm playing hearts on the computer in the air-conditioned comfort of the house and the yard still looks like shit. It was when the Philodendron were grabbing at my ankles as I walked up the porch, that I decided it was time. So over the lovely Labor Day weekend I got ambitious. The skies were a bit overcast, cutting down on the 'sitting in a frying pan' effect that the sun has around here, and I tackled the yard. It all looks quite lovely now, and I expect it to stay that way for at least a few months without attention. Or, at least until I'm in danger of being strangled by the Philodendron again.