So here I am into my third week of fatherhood, and I've got to say I don't know why people say this is so hard. I'm still sleeping at night, have only been "sprayed" once while changing a diaper and generally get to eat meals without interruption.

Of course, I'm not the one feeding the baby, and won't until he's allowed a bottle after four weeks. For now, I'm being Housework Guy, even to the extent of (gasp) running the vacuum cleaner and dusting. Promise not to tell, OK? I don't want to lose my Man Card.

But the beginning of spring has given me ample opportunity to do guy stuff, like try to grow grass. This whole "grass won't grow" thing is new to me. In Texas, the St. Augustine grass grows pretty much without any attention. If you're foolish enough to fertilize it, you can find yourself mowing three times a week during the hottest months, and losing small pets to the hungry blades. Stephen King's Lawnmower Man would have cried for mercy before the might of an expanse of verdant St. A.

Here in North Carolina, though, grass is a bit trickier. To start with, most folks grow their grass from seed. I thought that was quaint as could be until I got the prices for sod, then I realized why greens fees are so bloody expensive.

Now let me explain what it means to plant grass seed. You don't just toss the seed on the ground, water it and come back in a few weeks to enjoy your new yard. Oh, no, my friends. You get to scrape the ground surface to break it up, then put down lime, a bit of topsoil (if your yard is as poor as mine) then scatter the seed over the soil. Then water it in. Then you get the particulate-matter fun of scattering a thick layer of hay over the seeded ground. This is an exercise that, if you don't have allergies, will do a great job of making you feel like you do. Spreading a bale of hay around your yard is roughly equivalent to sticking your head in a sack of sawdust and inhaling briskly a few times.

My. What fun this "having a yard" business can be. And of course, even after all this labor there's no guarantee the grass will grow. My first attempt, last fall, resulted in a stripes-and-splotches pattern that looked as if a fleet of saucers from Sirius had been by to mark its turf.

We won't even discuss weeds, other than to remark that my effort to fertilize early this year led to some extremely happy and vigorous weeds growing in among the small clumps of still-dormant grass. The feral cats in the back yard have taken to using the stands of clover as hunting blinds, and I fear the sparrow population may be in danger.

At least the possums and raccoons have returned. At night, the dogs will begin sniffing furiously at the windows, and making whuffling sounds of challenge. A flashlight shined out the back window toward the birdfeeders/squirrel dish area will reveal one or more furry pals, busily gorging themselves on the cracked corn and peanuts in the squirrel dish.

So, I've come up with a plan: I'm going to teach myself how to speak raccoon and strike a deal with them. If they spend the extra time they have because they don't have to go out hunting for food scratching up the weeds out of the yard, I'll keep laying out the critter chow in abundance.

It's crazy, but it just might work ... unless the Evil Squirrels get wind of my efforts and scotch the deal.

And now, while I'm taking a futility break, let's see what someone else did to handle yard duty.

Orange You Happy?

When I lived in Houston, the icon on the alternative art scene was the Orange Show, which was a collection of folk-art and avant-garde pieces and large works. The Show was also the center of gravity for the Art Car crowd. This is the coolest bunch of vehicular renegades you've ever met, and their mobile creations have their very own parade every year. By far the biggest piece in the collection, though, is the Beer Can House.

As you'd expect, the BCH is, well, made of beer cans ... and much more. In the year of my birth, 1968, John Milkovisch began construction on the project. He inlaid thousands of marbles, rocks, brass figures and metal pieces in concrete blocks and redwood, all of which were used to make patios, fences, flower boxes and much more. The end result was a huge attraction ... and a yard with no grass. The entire front and back yards were encased in cement, the better to provide exhibition space for John's creations.

Hmm. This gives me a really great idea. All I have to do is drink a case of beer a day, and in no time at all I'll have enough raw material to create a work of pop art that will get me off mowing duty permanently.

Sorry to cut this short, but I've got a lot of cans to open!

Got a comment? A rant? Bucketloads of cash and/or praise to dole out? Drop me a line anytime!