Moving Day
I got the word on Saturday, which is my second favorite day of the week, right after Sunday. The PGA calls Saturday, moving day. This refers to the third golf round of four in each tournament. It is the pivotal day that golfers try to move up the leader board to have any chance to win on Sunday. My wife took advantage of me on moving day. She told me that I had to vacate the premises because Laguna now bans short-term renters. I had to be out in 24 hours or Sunday, the day that used to be my favorite day of the week.
“I’m not a short term renter. I live here,” I protested. She looked past me and said. “You use to live here, but not anymore. The neighbors complained about your loud and boorish behavior. I can’t babysit you 24/7. “Boorish?” It must be a case of mistaken identity, I thought. She read my thoughts, a magic wives can only conjure up and said, “No, our neighbors got the right guy. There’s a large active file of complaints at city hall about you. Look, I took one to show you.”
Dear City Council: Please remove Mr. Crantz from Laguna Beach. He writes the Pet Peeves column. It’s stupid, silly and has no redeeming social value. We could live with this drek, but he insists on hounding us every week, if we’ve read it or not. When we say yes, he insists on asking what parts we liked best. If we say no, he has an extra copy and reads it to us. The neighborhood is divided on which is worse. Don’t misunderstand us. We are patriotic Americans. The freedom of speech is an inalienable right. Just please take it away from Mr. Crantz. He is driving good people nuts. He’s our biggest pet peeve. Help from a captive audience.
“They love me,” I proclaimed. “My word is worth a 1,000 pictures.” My wife looked horrified and replied, “You’ve got it backwards. A picture is worth a thousands words. Not a word is worth a thousand pictures. Otherwise, Laguna would showcase the Pageant of the Wordsmiths.”
Now I had something to live for. I’d show those nosy neighbors that I was a permanent fixture, not some short-term renter, who my wife has to live on the premise for. At the Festival of Arts, I will host the world’s biggest game of sentence scrabble in a dead language. Here goes. “Culus est solum,elus est usque ad coelom et ad inferos. Translation: ”Whoever’s is the soil, it is theirs all the way to Heaven and all the way to hell.”
That’s 44 letter points for me and my GPS tells me that Laguna is between Heaven and Hell. Good news, honey, I don’t have to leave. Honey? Honey? Where’d you go?
A BOLO has been put out on Mark’s wife. Mark is lost without her and until she returns, Mark requests that readers tell him which parts they liked best. Or if readers prefer a copy, Mark will read its entirety to you.
