Death to engagement photos...

I don't know if Mormons realize this, but the engagement photo, like the word "fetch" is pretty much an invention of our subculture. And the reality is that nearly EVERY (yes almost every) engagement photo is horrible. The funny thing is that everyone thinks that they are are the exception to the rule, and that the two-headed/face sucking pictures of them will be wonderful.

Stop it. Now.

If you don't believe me, take it from a Mormon female with considerably more blog fame than me:

How not to pose in your engagement.

As for me, I've decided that my 500 bucks spent in engagement photos would be better appreciate by mailing out coupons for free ice cream.

The People in Your Neighborhood

It's taken some time to accept that I live in a very less than normal neighborhood. I realize that every street has it's share of crazies, but I think we may have exceeded our quota.

It started with these two:

According to them, every person in the neighborhood was a character out of a TV show or movie. So, I thought I'd immortalize them as the same. They moved out about a month ago, and I terribly miss their chicanery and debauchery. However, the pain has been assuaged by the arrive of a new roommate:

He brought with him a Love-Sac, dome-wax, an extensive movie collection, and a love for my vacuuming robot, so I think we will get along quite well.

Below is the back neighbor. From my 2nd story deck, which I love, I can see the entirety of his backyard, which I do not love. Early last fall, two huge mounds of dirt appeared in the backyard. Either he was channeling is his inner Richard Dreyfus or building a miniature moto-cross track. He assured me that the dirt would soon be gone; he was putting in a new lawn. He was true to his word, but the mound of dirt was hiding some sort of portable hot tub, which, along with it's occupants, is now plainly visible from my deck. I think I want the dirt back.

Then there's Dr. Spaceman. He lives kitty corner from my house, and has produced a brood of a half dozen red-haired and freckled spawn that looks nothing like him whatsoever. They play basketball ALL the time, though they are built like offensive linemen.

Next door we have the martial art hicks. One Sunday, I came home from church to find two of my neighbors shirtless in the backyard, throwing spears into targets jumbled together from boxes and styrofoam, all the while yelling at the dogs to stay out of the way. Then, two weeks later, there were more shirtless martial artists in the backyard, this time doing some of stick-wielding synchronized Tai Chi, with lots of extra grunting.

The coupe de grace, however, is the new kids across the street. Two bespectacled pre-teens brothers that bear an unfortunate resemblance to Christopher Mintz-Platz. One day after work, I walked across the street to get the mail, and they were in the driveway jumping around and saying things like, "My dragon launches fire!" and "I activate the ever-shield!". And then there was some writhing around on the ground when one of them was defeated by the other. Apparently they didn't notice me walk up, because once I reached the mailbox, they stopped and stared at me, standing very still, and didn't resume until I had retreated to my own driveway. (Warning to you naturalists, the nerd startles easily.)

So, there you have it. Just wait until I tell you about the characters in the local ward.