A condominium of dunces

So, not quite a year to the day since the last time, another clueless neighbour has decided to go all Freddy Krueger in the courtyard. Worse, although he still owns in the building, he doesn't even live here any more--he's been renting his place out for nearly a year (to such a reclusive tenant that I first ran into him only several weeks ago). Still, he didn't let that stop him from showing up yesterday and hacking away all of the new growth not only on the smoketree, but for good measure the lilacs as well.Because they "looked messy". As before, Ernie was the one to discover this. But, as before, he was too late to stop the damage.

Honestly, I despair. I mean, where the hell was he when this all went down last year? I know he was present at the condo meeting immediately afterward where all of this came out and we reiterated that you don't go hacking at the trees and shrubs without consulting anyone first. Scooter was livid; we talked him out of the abusive e-mail he was bound to send and held an impromptu meeting of the Landscaping Committee to craft an official response. My problem was that I really thought the official communication from the president last year covered all of this with perfect clarity. What do you say in the face of such obdurate doltishness?

Speaking of which, Crazy Neighbour Lady isn't off the hook even if it wasn't her wielding the clippers this time. With a certain amount of trepidation--and the explicit condition that she show it to all of us first--we allowed her to draught the response. Three times I spelled out my e-mail addresses for her over the phone and yet I only got her draught this morning because the treasurer forwarded it. Naturally, it's not what we discussed--entirely too chummy in tone and covering only one of the three points we told her to make.

¡Chúpalo, franchutes!

Perhaps I should take more two-hour lunches--particularly if they involve pints of Guinness and hot crisps doused in malt vinegar. Naturally, they had the France-Mexico game on behind the bar. And just as naturally, supporters of Les Bleus were thin on the ground. At one point, I got carried away and said:

"I would hope no one here is supporting France!"
"He is," said the barkeep, gesturing to an impeccably Gallic young man at the end of the bar.
"And you're serving him?"
"It's a public house, we serve everyone."
"He should be allowed to drink," I replied, "just as long as he doesn't use his hands. That's fair, innit?"

Was Jávier Hernández on or off? The barkeep had an answer for that. "He plays for Man U? Then he must've been offsides!" It might not even have mattered in the long run, since to quote a BBC commentator, "The longer this game has gone on, the worse France have got." Hélas, c'est bien trop vrai!

Now I wish more than ever I had some plausible excuse for stumbling in a couple hours late tomorrow morning.

WotD: get a haircut

1. sich die Haare schneiden lassen
2. z'n haar laten knippen
3. cortarse el cabello
4. tallar-se el cabell
5. se couper les cheveux
6. cael tyrru gwallt
7. bearradh gruaige d'fháil
8. chodzić/pójść do fryzjera
9. 머리 자르다
10. 理髮 lǐfà

Notes: Last night I dreamt of the most hideous haircut ever. It began as a trim and I ended up looking scalped.