There goes the neighborhood

We've lived in our home coming up on eighteen years now. In that time, the house to our west—with the one-bedroom guest house in back that's always rented, used as an Airbnb or deducted for tax purposes as a home office—has sold three times. The house next to us to the east—the one with the pool my daughter learned to swim in—has sold five times.

Restless owners? Hot real estate market? Maybe it's us.

I think this up and coming songwriter I'm rather fond of, Bruce Springsteen, put it best: "There are nice guys and assholes on every block in America."

Can I get an amen?

In the ever changing, inherently risky game of neighbor roulette, we've been fortunate to have had some great ones. And, sadly, our luck has occasionally run out and we've had a few monumental assholes (who may or may not still live in one of those houses and not the one to the west—who's to say).

The great neighbors who've passed through are the ones I enjoyed and miss the most. The ones I have common interests with, shared great conversations, and just generally enjoy their company. Which reminds me, Sebastian, as far as all of us here at the ponderosa are concerned you can't get back here fast enough. Make the offer. Get on it will ya?

Like many neighborhoods, mine has a homeowner's association, allegedly there to protect property values, keep tree-lined streets looking respectable and prevent residents from painting their home puke green, neon magenta or that dusty rose color that's really orange.

For $125 a year in dues, some other things they do are tell me how many trees I can have, how tall and what kind they can be, why I can't have a garage sale despite a garage desperately screaming for one, charge me hundreds of dollars for their "architectural committee" to "review" addition and remodel plans, and send out a quarterly newsletter with poorly done 1/4 page ads (Hmm, freelance opportunity?). There's also always a grainy, black and white picture alongside a message from the HOA president, who I wouldn't know if I fell over him at one of the third Thursday of the month association meetings.

Besides fighting lawsuits from homeowners who don't like being told what they can't do, they also spend yearly dues on an annual Labor Day weekend resident get together at the small park by one of the entrances to the neighborhood. Attendance is less and less every year. I don't know whether it's the rubbery hot dogs, the not-quite top 40 band, people going back to their house instead of use the Porta-Potties, dog souvenirs randomly scattered around the park or the fact it's a major holiday weekend and almost everyone is out of town.

I've gone a few times, but I'm not gonna lie—my community spirit is seriously lacking.

Which brings me to my point (see, if you wait long enough...). I'm baffled as to why I signed up for this Nextdoor app that supposedly gives me all the news about what's going on in my neighborhood.

The latest notice is apparently Ava has moved into the hood. Welcome Ava. I'm sure I won't know you from the other 624 families with homes in our development, but I wish you the best and I'm glad you're here. At least I think I am. Unless you're like the meth tweakers that lived in the rented house across the street for years, or share the same asshole tendencies as my neighbor to the east. Then don't bother unpacking.

When Nextdoor isn't announcing new arrivals, it's showing posts from neighbors who need babysitters, want to get rid of furniture, argue about social responsibility for the homeless who wander through the residential streets on the way to the boulevard, packages stolen off of front porches, coyote sightings ("Anyone seen Rags?") and other various neighborly inquiries.

If there were a preference I could set to one update a week instead of one a day, I might spend more time going over it and get more involved in the critical questions, like who parked an RV on the street instead of their driveway—behind the fence. But there isn't. And I won't.

I'll just have to somehow reconcile the fact I've been here over 18 years, and still only know a handful of neighbors beyond my own block.

So you don't get the wrong idea, I'm not saying the Nextdoor app doesn't have anything I'm interested in. After all, the asshole neighbors have two loud, yappy little barking dogs they have to walk.

Perhaps I'll start paying more attention to those coyote sightings.

What a putts

I don't play golf. I've tried, but I can't. It seems like a monumental waste of time. And land. And money.

Besides, if I want to wear plaid shorts with striped shirts there are plenty of other places I can do it.

The picture to the left is part of the route I take when I'm out walking with my German Sheperd. Have a closer look at it. I'm fortunate to live in a neighborhood with some pretty nice manicured lawns, but even this struck me as a little much. See the cups?

Apparently what my idiot neighbor (and if you've been following this blog you know the place is lousy with them) did was go out and spend money to have a miniature golf course/putting green put on his front lawn.

I know what you're thinking: at least he didn't put flags out. You know what I'm thinking?

Let me direct your attention to exhibit B.

On the lawn immediately in front of his house, he has two holes with flags. I don't know what to make of any of it.

My first thought is I wonder if he followed the same procedure every other resident has to follow and cleared it with the homeowner's association. Come to find out he didn't (which would also explain the dolphin sculpture and the flagpole that aren't pictured here).

On the heels of that I think, well, it's his house and if he wants to he can. Which of course he can't. That's why there's a homeowner's association.

Then I think, wow, at least this guy didn't do something so stupid and boneheaded like putting in a sand trap.

Oh, wait a minute.

Let me direct your attention to exhibit C.

If the guy wanted to put a miniature course on his property, he should have put it on his property. Technically the street-side parkway belongs to the city, and they get really pissy when they don't have a say in what you do to their property. Or when they don't get paid a waiver fee so you can do it.

They're just funny that way.

I have a lot of friends, good friends, intelligent people that I respect that play golf often and enjoy it. But they have the good taste to do it on a course at a club, not on their front lawn.

I think I have to agree with Robin Williams: golf is a giant joke being played on everyone who plays it.

So I'll keep walking my dog past this house, smiling to myself at the idiocy of it all.

And taking a small bit of satisfaction in the fact that even if my dog can't play golf, there are other things he can do on this guy's course.

This clip has language that may not be suitable for the youngsters.