Right in My Back Yard

You have a beautiful wife, wonderful children, a wasteland.

—Fester to Gomez in The Addams Family

When I bought my house, the view out back was a view. It was a farm, complete with grazing cattle, giant bales of hay, feed corn going dry on the stalk.

Now they're growing identical 'custom' tract houses back there. Assheads. It's so close to the tracks a train would sound like it was actually in your living room, but people will live there anyway.



But because housing hasn't been selling so hot just lately, they've slowed down the madness and the result is a glorious rocket field.

While Mo vandalized a street that has hardly been driven on with sidewalk chalk, I launched a couple of rockets. What else is a field like this for? I can see my house from here. It was tempting to go harass the soccer mafia, but it was a school night and drive time would have been a problem.





Dave came by walking Murphy, his dog-faced girl. Dave is a politician, but I like him anyway. He fills the role of George McGovern to my Hunter Thompson. Except Gardner city politics are pretty big-time compared to my writing career.

'That's Mr. Creosote!' he exclaimed. My rocket is famous! A household name!



Mr. Creosote didn't slide very well on the launch rod. The launch lugs took on some paint, and while I launched him successfully at the KCAR launch, I'm thinking maybe it was on a skinny rod. I sprayed the 3/8" rod down with silicone spray, but when I hit the button he just sat there, spewing fire and smoke. Then he threw his nose cone and parachute into the dirt.

'It deployed,' Dave observed.

So then I decided to launch Thor's Candycane. Who at least flew. That's always something, when the rocket leaves the pad.



Then the parachute didn't deploy. And, of course, in 40 acres of mostly soft dirt, the rocket comes down on the blacktop. I must not have gotten enough recovery wadding in, because the nylon parachute had singed a bit and stuck closed. Crap.



Third time is the charm, right? Buster flew as beautifully as he can. He's got a crooked fin and describes a crazy sort of corkscrewing ascent. But his parachute deployed and he was recovered at least a quarter mile down field.