Drill, Baby, Drill

That's our first rose of the season -- a miniature one that Dave planted by the birdbath. It's pretty when it first comes out but the bush tends to lose its leaves and look pretty pathetic by the time autumn rolls around. At least we can enjoy it for now.

Here's one thing we're not enjoying:

Yes, that's our neighbors, the Russians, doing something upstairs. What, I cannot imagine. How could there be a single square foot of their apartment that has not been sanded, refinished and buffed to perfection? How could there still be a single nail out of place, a single rough edge?

"It's like we live in the mouth of some guy who's always at the dentist," said Dave.

They should see our apartment. They'd be horrified. We're pretty sure they're already horrified by the garden, because as you know we do let nature take its course to a certain extent. They would turn it into a tennis court, guaranteed.

We're supposed to have a renovation of our own some time this summer, supposedly, though we've heard nothing about it for months. The landlords want to spiff up the living room, where we have a crack running across the ceiling as well as some peeling paint. This was identified as a need in our flat inspection several months ago. It's all cosmetic and not something I'm particularly concerned about, so I'm not keeping my finger on the pulse of every new development.

I did my best to rein in our household chaos yesterday, though, cleaning floors and bathrooms and taking care of all the houseplants. I watered everything, including the orchids, so we are set now for another week.

I'm also catching up on some New Yorkers, reading about topics as wide and varied as why the Democrats lost young men to Trump and Ronan Farrow's investigation into how a serial rapist and child pornographer in Tennessee managed to get away with his crimes for so long. (Hint: The police weren't trying very hard to catch him.) It's like a Harlan Coben novel come to life.

Last night we found two new shows that look promising. One is the Netflix remake of "The Four Seasons," the Alan Alda movie of 1981, now in half-hour installments and featuring Steve Carrell and Tina Fey, among others. I remember seeing the Alda movie about 40 years ago, but of course I was a teenager then, so it wouldn't resonate with me the same way it might now, when I and the characters are all middle-aged. The other is called "Black Snow," an Australian show about a true-crime investigator, now on the BBC iPlayer. We've only seen the first episode but it grabbed us!