"I put that envelope under the half-a-ton of garbage..."

Well, I have to say, Maryland is the one state in which I've lived where I really feel like my taxes mostly go for things I'd want them to go for. We have excellent roads that are well-maintained, and (unlike Pennsylvania) Maryland doesn't shut down miles and miles and miles of one lane of an Interstate for years at a time when they're only working on a 300-foot stretch. And they don't use concrete paving, they use asphalt, so the roads last and feel better.

Last month, they started repaving US340 from the river to the county line (only about a mile and a half). I didn't think the road was that bad, but they apparently did, so it's being repaved nicely. I've also been quite impressed with the way the county and state road crews (made up of work-release inmates from the jail) keep the shoulders and ditched mowed and free of trash. It's a nice little service and I like that my taxes pay to keep the area nice.

Well, they're pretty damn efficient.

Barely four days after I warned Avery that the stuff he was moving out of the barn, and depositing just off the highway below my property, might not be safe where it was (pilferage, vandalism, removal as trash), he went out there with a Magic Marker and put the following on every piece of stuff out there:

THIS IS THE PERSONAL PRIVATE LEGALLY-OWNED PROPERTY OF {insert his goofy made-up name here}. NOT TRASH!!!!

Every single piece. Even blankets and clothing. Just like that, just like some nine-year-old might mark his bedroom door to keep his sister out.

I got up this morning and as I drove up the road to go to work, I saw a large orange utility trailer with an SMV (slow-moving-vehicle) marker on the back, towed by a large blue state van with a sign on the top: INMATE VAN. And sure enough, they were collecting up all of Avery's crap and throwing it in the trailer. I don't envy them the job, as the stuff reeked... a sort of combination of dumpster slime, dogshit, body odor and mildewed socks. Hundreds of pounds of stuff... I have no idea where he got it all.

Wherever he got it, he ain't got it now. Snooze-ya-lose, Avery. He apparently was hauling one armload at a time to wherever it is that he and his dogs now reside, but at that rate, that stuff would have been there in December.

And no, I didn't call the State Highway Administration. Perhaps one of the neighbors did, but it's more likely the sheriff's deputies noticed it and called it in. I am half-worried the state will send me a bill for cleaning it all up, since I'm the nearest property owner, but then again, it does all have Avery's name and address all over it.

Anyway, as I said, I don't envy the road crew guys their task. I think every one of them deserves a pardon from the governor... no possible criminal transgression could ever merit them having to put up with such filth.

I did write a more detailed account of my recent adventures with Avery and the truly revolting state in which I found the barn on Saturday, but suffice to say, he's been padlocked out and it's going to stay that way, though eventually I will have to clean the mess out myself.

I meant to talk about more interesting stuff, but sometimes the stupid shit gets in the way, you know?

I have to do another podcast. And no, it won't be about this incident!

In other news, Martha and I have had some great conversations lately. I really wish she didn't live 2,782 miles away...