Sisyphus Was No Sissy.

A program I routinely listen to on NPR led me through an internet search to this page, an overview of radio host Bill Morelock.  (Yes, his name is just one letter off from the species in H. G. Wells's The Time Machine, but I don't know how often he has been told that.) After reading this blurb from his brief bio ("He writes an occasional piece of prose, occasionally funny, but not often enough to really annoy anyone.") I figure I'd give him a chance.  He sounds like someone I'd like.  Namely, he sounds like me, and I like myself, so shouldn't I like him?

I read a few of his pieces.  Naturally, I identified with his plant-related ones.  Sisyphean Labors portrays gardening as an unending, seemingly futile exercise.  How I Landscaped upon the Stage relates how a simple, personal landscaping project morphs into a very public exhibition inviting criticism.  (All right, so my dad designed and installed our retaining wall, and he used uniformly cast, concrete blocks, but I chose and laid out the plants.  Our combined efforts garnered the compliment of how "pretty" it turned out, which is probably the best approbation either of us could've gotten.)

Yeah, I think I like this guy.