They don't make clothespins like they used to. And they don't sell clothesline, either. More about that later.

This spring, "victory gardens" sprouted all over our neighborhood. Maybe it was the garden at the White House or maybe it was all the pay cuts going around, but lots of folks planted seeds in the ground this spring.

Our son Max has been planting a cherry tomato plant for the last three years. This year, we added two hot pepper plants, beans, carrots, cantaloupe, butternut squash (from one we ate) and cucumbers. For seasoning, we planted cilantro and basil.

The tomato plant has done great, just like the ones in previous years. Apparently, we have the perfect climate and soil for tomatoes. Of the newcomers, the basil has done quite well, and the peppers are producing. After that, things drop off.

The carrots have done alright, but we haven't thinned them well. Nonetheless, we've harvested about 20 baby carrots with quite a few still in the ground. We only planted a couple of bean plants in a pot, so our crop of 20 (so far) probably isn't so bad. We had two cucumbers start growing, but neither has flourished. One cantaloupe started, but it fell off the vine when it was the size of a golf ball. The squash is still flowering, but no fruit has arrived yet. Perhaps it was one of those "you can't grow this at home" varieties that produces sterile seeds.

As for the cilantro, not one shoot ever broke the surface of the ground. I've heard cilantro is a bitch to grow, but this seems a bit excessive. Oh well.

So our garden hasn't really cut down our food bill this summer. We have had more success in other areas.

An extended spring and 12-day vacation at the end of June and early July provided us with the lowest electric bill we've had since moving inside the Beltway. One other important factor has been drying the clothes outside. Dryers use up a lot of electricity, and not using ours has probably dropped our electricity usage by at least five percent.

We string up our clothes on our screened-in deck. We hang the clothes on a camping line and on twine. We've searched everywhere in town and simply cannot find real clothesline. We could order something from Amazon (those cool clothesline wheel thingies start at just $28.99), but we decided to stick the materials at hand and crank up the ceiling fan. That works, sort of.

The clothespins, though, are another story. I don't know where they make clothespins these days, and I don't know what kind of wood they use, but today's version sucks. I've snapped three clothespins just by opening them (weak wood). I can't tell you how many clothespins have exploded in my fingers, the two pieces of wood flying in opposite directions. This sort of thing is fixable, but annoying nonetheless.

Still, I keep wondering where the good clothespins are. Somebody, somewhere, must make some fine clothespins. Someday, perhaps, I will find them. But all is not lost. The inevitable marches of progress and globalization are not entirely evil.

A couple weeks ago, the wife and I dined with friends at Eatonville, the latest restaurant from D.C. entrepreneur (and supporter of progressive causes) Andy Shallal. The joint is a tribute to Zora Neale Hurston, and so it features lots of art and southern cooking (with somewhat less much pig fat than might be expected, as Shallal is Muslim).

The food was good, and not particularly expensive as D.C. spots go. But what knocked me out was in the bathroom.

The urinals have stones in the bowls.

River stones, as it turns out. This is a real step up from the usual cake that guys have been peeing on for decades.

It's like pissing in a creek. There's a certain feeling of, I don't know, childhood joy or something that comes with peeing on the rocks. Why didn't anyone think of this before?

Or have they? I did a quick check on the ol' Internets, and it seems that putting river stones into sinks has been a trend for a year or so. But I couldn't find a mention of stones in the urinal bowl. It's possible (if extremely unlikely) that Eatonville is the first place to so decorate its urinals.

The women in the party were nonplussed. "What's so special about rocks in a urinal?" one asked. The guys were fairly florid in their excitement. I mean, it's one thing to pee on a blue piece of solid chemical. It presents a target (which is modestly entertaining), and if your urine is yellow enough, the bowl might turn green. That's pretty cool and all, but it's still nothing compared to peeing on rocks.

For the record, in the next house I own, I will be installing a urinal for the express purpose of filling it with river stones so I can pee on rocks every single day. It's possible this experience could lose its luster after a while (especially as I'll certainly be the one cleaning said stones), but I don't think so. Watching pee splash off a pile of rock provides the sort of primal enjoyment few things can match.

So screw the crappy garden. And forget about the junk clothespins. Go pee on some rocks and discover how it feels to be alive again.

Jon Worley would like a mix of gray and black rocks in his dream urinal.