This Canadian holiday weekend has been quite nice. Four annoying people moved out of the "motel" and half of the rest have been away.
That leaves 1/4 of us to hold down the fort and make sure nobody gets robbed. And we also get the use of the swingset.
Yesterday I went for a long drive with a friend through the countryside, checking out houses and land and gardens. This is how I rate country homes: "Boring!" "Suburban! Boring!" "Cute!" "Really cute!" and "OMFG." (Sub-categories of 'cute' and 'OMFG' include "Victorian!" "French Canadian!")
"Cute" and "really cute" are usually Victorian, with pillars and big old porches.
But "cute" can also mean French-Canadian stone farmhouses with dormer windows.
My driver friend was laughing, because he couldn't actually crane his neck to look at the houses I was rating.
There were a couple houses were of the "Just kill me now" variety.
Earlier in the day, we'd also done some window-shopping on Main Street. We stopped at the pawn shop because I wanted to see if I could get some nice electronics from some poor sucker who'd been obliged to sell goods for fast cash.
I didn't see anything affordable.
Then we went to the local big hotel on Main Street. Massive working fireplace, big damned moosehead over it (not that I approve of dead heads on walls), nice brick walls... but crappy, fugly orange plastic chairs. Give me ownership, let me put in some nice couches and loveseats and armchairs, turn the place around a bit, kick out the riff-raff.
I need to own this town. I would, by the way, fire the unsmiling bitch in the tart-pants from the bar-terrace.
Then we came back to my house, I made some dinner, and that's when I discovered Keith Urban on the cowboy channel of Sirius.
All in all, a good day.