So I’m now the proud owner of an official Red Neck, which along with my short sleeve shirt tanline means I have what’s known in these parts as a “farmer’s tan”. Strangely, most farmers in these parts are smart enough to wear a hat and a shirt with long sleeves, even during the summer.

But I came by this new look honestly, as I spent all weekend plowing and sowing… or, more accurately, trying to keep a rented roto-tiller from taking off down the street like a motorcycle.

Several years ago I build a little flowerbed border in the back yard, but never got around to removing the grass so that we could, like, plant some flowers. With a couple of other landscaping projects on tap I was going to rent a tiller – really! I was! – but my wife decided to force my hand by doing the flowerbed herself.

And by “doing the flowerbed” I mean “piling mulch on top of the sod”. Just dump out a couple of bags, and voila! A flowerbed! In addition, her idea of “planting” is “set the roots down on the ground and pile compost around it until it stands up on its own.”

So after moving all the flowers she “planted” and bagging all the compost and mulch, I fired up the Manly Brand roto-tiller and went to town. Almost literally – the ground where I live is hard as a brick, with the occasional softball-sized rock to make things interesting. The tiller didn’t much like this, and I struggled to hold it back like I was playing tug of war with Hulk Hogan. And when I hit one of the aforementioned rocks, the damn thing would jump about six inches in the air, nearly tearing my arms loose at the elbow.

Once all the tilling was done, I still had to dig the holes for a bunch of shrubs. Did I mention the ground was hard as a brick, with the occasional softball-sized rock? I swear, it felt like I was prying up the dirt, not digging it. A crowbar would have been more useful.

Finally, everything was done, and I have to say the yard looks just beautiful. I look forward to enjoying it for the next couple of months, until the summer sun burns it to a crisp.

Flicks. When I wasn’t working in the yard, I spent the weekend watching movies. First up was Cabaret, the classic 1972 tale of the decadent nightclubs of Nazi Germany. Good thing I got this through Netflix, because it royally sucked. Where to begin? Oh, yes: Liza Minelli. I have never in my life seen a “vamp” with less sex appeal. Was everyone in the country suffering from mass hysteria? (Oh, wait – 1972. Riiiiight.) I didn’t have much sympathy for her character, either. I suppose at one time ditzy dreamers who trampled on everyone else to make themselves happy appealed to me, but she just seemed selfish and childish.

Plus the story didn’t really go anywhere, and didn’t really seem like it was intended to go anywhere. Just a tedious muddle.

After that I watched Peter Jackson’s King Kong. Meh. A half hour could have been cut without losing the good parts. Naomi Watts – an excellent actress, especially in Mulholland Drive – had basically nothing to do after the first hour. Adrien Brody was also wasted (his talent, that is, he seemed sober enough), and Jack Black didn’t really fit his role. So, blah.

Milestones. The littlest Powell, my 2-year-old son, learned how to climb out of his crib just last week. This gave us a choice for his next milestone: move the crib out and let sleep in the Big Boy Bed, or let him climb all over the crib and end up taking his first trip to the hospital.

Famous Powells. I’m working on a list of famous Powells. So far:

Boog Powell (baseball player)
Dick Powell (actor, Murder, My Sweet)
William Powell (actor, The Thin Man)
Colin Powell (former Secretary of State)
Talmadge Powell (writer)
Richard Powell (writer, Say It With Bullets)
Adam Clayton Powell (policitian)
Josh Powell (basketball player)
Bud Powell (jazz pianist)

If you can think of any others, post in the comments.