I’m allowed to write things in Spanish occasionally, like siete, because I live near Mexico. Mexico, Maine, that is. And Peru, now that I think about it. I’m fairly close to Norway, as well, but I won’t be slinging any Norwegian at you. You’re welcome in advance. Norsk got all them fricatives and flaps and glottal this and retroflex that. Nei takk, venner. Oops, sorry. But I’ll knock it off, I promise, and get down to business. Great Moments in Maine Real Estate coming up!

I can’t help myself. I get to noticing things others don’t. I get to wondering about things maybe I shouldn’t. So you’ll forgive me if I wonder aloud what exactly  might be sticking through the wall in the next room.

I’m on (broken) record as identifying Frank Gehry, the architect, as one of the most destructive individuals from the last hundred years or so. You know, the brushy mustache guy needed a big army to wreck most of Europe, but Gehry only needs a pencil and paper to lay waste to the countryside. His big idea, if you can call it that, is that houses, and especially public buildings, should be incredibly complex, expensive, and above all, goofy-looking. Telling expensive jokes in sticks and bricks desolates the landscape, and can’t be reversed easily. And the idea permeates its way down through the architectural floor into the construction groundwater, and the result is a pressure-treated KFC bucket someone is supposed to live in.

I don’t know about you, but when I roll out of bed in the morning, I’m not ready for the Montreal Cognitive Assessment. I can’t memorize a short list of anything, name objects shown in pictures, or copy motions or shapes while performing other tasks until I’ve had a cup of coffee, at least. While there are still pillow lines on my face, and my hair is in a somewhat architectural configuration, I’m not ready for a Mini-Mental State examination. You know, identifying objects in a room, counting backwards, knowing the date, and being able to expound on common facts. I’m not in the mood for Memory Impairments Screen, a Functional Activities Questionnaire, or even putting those oddly shaped blocks into their respective holes in the Shape Sorter thing. So I’m definitely not in the mood for figuring out this assortment of shower knobs, the kind of thing I’d expect to find after teaching the Chief to play basketball. Besides, how many knobs do they need to give you a cold shower?

Interestingly, Wine Rack Full of Skulls is the name of my Pantera tribute band, But I digress.

There is no power on Earth that could keep me from calling this “The Sh*t Chute” if I lived there. Of course, there’s no power on Earth that could get me to live there in the first place, so the point is moot. Still, if the next occupant wants to call it that, I’ll waive copyright on it.

I call this decorating motif the “Instant Divorce.” Because I don’t know about you guys, but I’d say things like, “Are you gonna skin that sheepleg, pilgrim,” or maybe, “Liberty Valance’s the toughest man south of the Picketwire – next to me,” every single time I went through those doors, until my wife couldn’t take it any more.

Well, there you go. It’s a selección bastante buena for you to enjoy. You can vote for your favorite in the comments, but please: no wagering.