Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 1, 1990 TAG: 9006290112
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: Ned Bane
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
"First of all, tell me about your lawn," said the good professor, a university expert on pop culture and its symbolism.
"Well, it's not exactly a lawn," I said, "It's more like a meadow. The last time I mowed it was during a power outage when I was forced to miss an episode of `Mr. Ed.'"
"Do you live in a mobile home?" asked Fishstick.
"As a matter of fact, yes," I said. "How did you know?"
"Call it a hunch," he said, "but the fact that you keep spitting brown juice into that Pepsi cup has something to do with it."
Fishstick explained to me that decorating a home's exterior and lawn were not to be entered into lightly.
"You don't want your abode to send the wrong message," he said. "Your friends could be offended, ask you to turn in your Pin Punks bowling jacket and banish you from the league.
"Keep in mind that lawn ornaments carry deep symbolism," he said. "Let's start with some basics. You have any lawn flamingos?"
"No," I said, suddenly feeling derelict in my domestic responsibilities.
"Well, let's get you fixed up," he said with zeal. "Did you ever study science?"
"Well, I used to watch `Mr. Wizard' on Saturday mornings," I said.
"Good enough," Fishstick warbled. "You don't need just ordinary pink flamingos."
So he rummaged through his rendition of Fibber McGee's closet for awhile and staggered out with a pair of flamingos that sure looked pink to me.
"So, what's the big deal, prof?" I said.
"Aha," he replied. "These are no ordinary flamingos. They only befit a man of science. These are barometric flamingos that turn blue when it's going to rain and pink when fair weather prevails.
"Now how about that porch of yours? Anything there worth mentioning?"
"No," I said, staring at my shoes.
"Don't be so glum," he said, giving me a consoling pat on the back. "We've got all the accoutrement." (Professors use words like that; I think it means "stuff.")
"Do you consider yourself an environmentalist?" he inquired.
"I don't throw my pop cans out the car window, and I have a meadow in front of my house," I said.
"Then what you need is a wringer washer on your front porch. This symbolizes that you've rejected high-tech Whirlpool technology."
Next he wanted to know: "Interested in leaving a legacy for your children?"
"Of course," I said.
"Then you need a concrete bird bath, the kind with frogs in a love seat," Fishstick said. "These have been known to withstand thousands of rads of radiation and stop a Volvo-White truck dead in its tracks. You can rest assured, knowing that it will be around for at least another generation."
I left the professor's house feeling much more enlightened than when I came and resolved then and there to find a nice condo.
by CNB