Greetings from Lake Erie

Today I write to you from the majestic shores of Lake Erie here in Northeast Ohio, home of the stars. As I sit here, my sweet dog Luci frolics in the grass in front of me, alternately pawing at her orange rubber ball and scanning the yard for prey she will never, ever catch. In the distance, across the angry or at least mildly-irritated sea, lies Canada. I mean, I can’t see it, but I’m not an idiot- if you swim far enough, it’s there. That’s just science. Ask around.

I’m here for a few days with my girlfriend and our dog, staying at her sister and brother-in-law’s house, my girlfriend’s, that is, as our dog’s siblings own no property that I am aware of. To my left, three young and feisty cardinals are having a full-on Battle Royale in the driveway, pecking and flapping their wings at each other. I’ve read that cardinals are symbols of joy and hope but you’d never know it to look at these guys. They just seem like dicks if I’m being perfectly honest.

Beyond the cardinals, a large freighter drifts toward the shore, oo close, in fact that if it were a pirate ship I’d be really concerned right now, freaking out even. But I imagine it’s just full of something boring, like paper towels or, given our proximity to Canada, something distinctly Canadian, like poutine, peameal bacon, or dangerous amounts of maple syrup. Still, it’s fun to imagine the pirates storming the sandy beaches of Lake Erie, sending dozens of innocent Ohioans in search of an adequate tan fleeing in all directions. Eventually, the pirates would have no choice but to head into town for an ice cream cone or stack of pancakes before climbing aboard their ship once more to maybe see what’s going on in Michigan. After all, if there’s anyone who deserve to get their asses handed to them by pirates, it’s the people of Michigan, who have had it too good for too long by my count.

Since the last paragraph, a guy in a truck has pulled up to empty the dumpsters that sit along the water about fifty yards in front my girlfriends’s sister’s house. A few years ago, someone threw a dead body in one of the dumpsters though we were fortunately not visiting at the time as nothing ruins a visit with family like a dead body in a dumpster. Still, that’s nothing compared to what those pirates that exist entirely in my mind are getting up to right now, whipping around innocent folks just trying to enjoy an ice cream cone and whatnot. It’s really something the way I picture it. God, I want those pirates to come.

I should probably also mention that also while I’ve been sitting here on the front steps typing this, a guy pulled into the driveway in a blue Subaru while wearing a visor with a spiky wig underneath for reasons I will struggle to comprehend for weeks probably. Luci, being a dog and all, ran over to him barking in that way that dogs tend to when a guy in a wig pulls into the driveway.

“Can I give your dog a peanut butter dog treat?” the guy in the wig asked.

“Sure,” I said.

And so he did. Luci, for her part, stopped barking, took the dog treat, collapsed onto the lawn and ate it.

Sometimes I wonder if I would make a good parent or maybe a really bad one, what with how quickly I’ll let a stranger in a wig give food to the closest thing I have to a child. Or maybe, in the absence of children, I’ll one day get a spiky wig of my own and just cruise around town looking for whatever excitement I can find. Then again, the wig guy might have kids and even grandkids for all I know.

“Someday this wig will be all yours,” he probably tells them over ice cream cones in town.

Little does he know that’s almost always the first thing those darn pirates go for.