Buildings under construction are so richly detailed, so replete with fascinating textures. It's always a letdown to see the final product, dull seas of brick halfheartedly festooned with extruded plastic fenesters and balusters and cornisters, looking like faux-Georgian correctional facilities.

Nothing faux about the guts, just bare exposed practicality. No delicate aesthetic hand positioning the elements just so. No fastidious landscaping, not just yet, just piles of sawdust and lopped lumber, the ground churned into a swampy mess.

Cleanliness has its place, it's all sanitary and whatnot, but give me a good mess any day. Well, don't actually give me one, I've got plenty, that was just a figure of speech. Because one man's mess is another man's faeces, and don't think I don't know who that man is, because I do. And that goes for you gals, too.

Now see there Sparky this is what I'm talking about you're going along just fine and then you feel compelled to throw in a reference to feces and it doesn't make it a bit more palatable to dress it up in some arcane spelling or whatnot and yes your hectoring schoolmarm alter ego also uses the term 'whatnot' because after all we share the same godforsaken fetid brainpan and it's only to be expected and why couldn't I have been Leonard Cohen's alter ego or T Boone Pickens' for god's sake it's not easy being a silly man's alter ego and where on earth did you get the idea that alter egos don't use punctuation?

And just in case you don't buy into my aesthetic stance, I threw in a pretty tree. Enjoy.