Fuck, I hate these things. They seem perfectly benign and gosh-a-roonie, they’re ee-ko-logical and everything… and totally fucking useless except to screw up neighborhoods at night. They don’t put out enough light to actually see anything, they just create oddly-shaped blobs of light that are disorienting, especially on uneven terrain, because you often can’t see any ground level to give the view a horizon. On top of that, the light from them is usually the ugly bluish-gray, nothing warm or comforting or nice.
So you buy your six- or twelve- or seventy-three-pack at Sam’s or Costco or Home Despot and you stick the fucking alien potato mashers all over your yard, and you go inside, hopping up and down with squee, waiting for it to Get! Dark! so you can see your new toys… and then you finally realize it IS dark and your new acquisitions are just unpleasantly colorless glow-blobs floating around in the darkness that is your yard.
Oh, well, don’t cost nothing to run, so there they stay. Fucking up the night for everyone within line of sight, taking away sweet summer darkness for a sort of shitty high school stage set with “stars” all over the background.
Fuck these turd-stakes.
We live in the goddamned woods of New England, and we are surrounded by city-working insurance agents who not only come home, take off their ties, put on their flannels and ride their quads around to each other’s houses, but feel some need to light up the night like Times Square. Pole lights that would make people squint in Las Vegas. Spotlights, both manual and motion-triggered, that would serve in any prison-break movie. (And, of course, aimed from the house to the furthest property lines, meaning our bedroom window is within the cone of at least four of them.)
And now the surly neighbor next door, the one occupying the center of the only dark stretch left around us (except that he leaves lights on on every floor - 3 - all night, every night) has put in a dozen of these alien, cyanotic dull glowbastards, so my last nice view of the dark night woods, with a few cheery house lights twinkling in the distance and stars above, is occupied by a permanent fleet of ghostly blue-gray UFOs… all fucking night, every night, because while the pole lights and floodlights get turned off at midnight or two or four, these eco-faker-fuckers NEVER go off.
God, I wish I was as good with a sniper rifle as I am in Borderlands. “Gotta get some whiskey and a gun, my dear. Some whiskey and a gun.”