Sunday, March 1, 2009

Thou Shalt Not Steele

This post receives this title for two reasons...

Thou Shalt Not Steele

In the first instance, this refers to the apparent impossibility it is for me to completely work my way through Series 1 of Remington Steele. Try as I might, and adore Laura and the gang as I do, naps seem to prevail. Perhaps the long hours working on The House Fixaroo have something to do with it? The dialogue and melodrama of the subject material can't be the cause...because both are even more spectacularly corny than I remember. Oh happy and full reunion, wilt thou not be had?

For those who share in my nostalgia, one episode I succeeding to view in three installments included this exchange:

Steele and Murphy are sneaking into a building, back-hugging a wall in black get-up as they wait for the right moment to move closer.
Steele: "You know, it's not that I don't enjoy our frequent altercations, but since we're stuck with each other, we might try to find some activity to close the gap."
Murphy: "We don't have very much in common."
Steele: "There must be something. What is it you like to do on a brisk Sunday afternoon?"
Murphy (laughing): "Sure. I can just see you slapping on some cut-offs and shooting some hoops."
Steele: "There? You see? I love to hunt. But I don't recall ever shooting a 'hoop' before. Is it a very large animal?"
(Murphy's smile vanishes and the pair's sneaking continues)

Thou Shalt Not Steal

Two - I have pondered attaching a reminder of this commandment on our skip. As grumbled about some time ago, there appear to be a large number of dirty free-loading off-loaders in our neighbourhood. Recent, unwelcome additions to OOOOUR skip include:
  • part of a car (a front fender perhaps?);
  • a large branch of a birch tree (I have scanned the immediate vicinity for its home with no success in matching to date. I would like to lay it on the drive-way of the perp with a tag saying, "I think you lost this" or "Thanks for your kind offer, but no, we don't want your branch";
  • an instant coffee machine (thanks);
  • ten or so rolls of vacuum-sealed newspapers (apparently someone didn't want to finish the route, tsk tsk);
  • three plastic bins (at least they were stacked, right?); and
  • two black garbage bags of mystery waste (and so they shall remain).
So, further room within the tub of sanctification continues to diminish due to space thieves. Hopefully there is enough space left for the final weeks of the Fixaroo - as old carpet, more rotten weatherboards, the bathroom sink, and the final clean-up's rubbish are all yet to go into what my mother calls our "dumpster".

Mother dearest flew down from the North Island this past week and worked very long hours to advance the project. What a heroine.

Hopefully we'll have her up on the market and out to the highest bidder in no time.
The house, that is.
Mother, we'll keep.
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