Showing 1 - 10 of 331 posts found matching keyword: walter

  • Awoke to a call to repair a broken door at our commercial rental property
  • Bent the jack on my aunt's new lawnmower trailer as I was swapping her two trailers
  • Smashed my thumb with a sledgehammer while trying to "repair" said jack
  • Nearly wrecked my car changing lanes in front of a tiny Smart car on the way to the hospital
  • Visited Dad in the hospital to find him once again weak and confused (he was readmitted on Saturday because he couldn't breathe well... and he still can't breathe well)
  • Failed to properly latch the gate and allowed Dad's poodle Scarlett to escape my yard
  • Struck in the eye by a falling acorn
  • Watched Matt Amodio lose on Jeopardy!

That was my Monday. I don't think I'll be getting out of bed on Tuesday. I don't want to find out what falling thing hits me in the eye next. It'd probably be a plane.

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I've been re-reading some of my posts from years past. While they can and do often entertain me, even I have to admit that sometimes I really can be an obnoxious blowhard. Sorry about that.

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Tropical Storm Fred has driven unusual animals into my bedroom. I've found a cockroach on the ceiling, a four-inch wolf spider under my clothes hamper, and a foot-long brown snake under my bed.

The roach was easily crushed and flushed. The snake I caught in a dustpan and released outside. The spider put up more of a fight.

Wolfie resisted all of my invitations to exit my living space, so it's now living inside the belly of my studio shop vac, which I guess I won't be emptying for a few months yet.

(Ha, ha. That's a joke. I'm sure the li'l bastard thing will just burst through the vacuum's plastic casing to terrorize me again. I'm stuffing a wet towel under my door before I go to bed, just in case.)

There's a long list of terrible things going on in the world that I could be worried about, so it's kind of nice that the creepy-crawlies in my basement are working together to keep me "present." Thanks, spider. I guess.

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I typically say something snarky here, but I'm proud of that pasta

That there, that's homemade spaghetti. And I made it! And it tastes great!

Yeah, I know. People have been making homemade pasta — essentially just flour and eggs — for centuries, maybe millennia. But none of those people have ever been in my kitchen.

As it happens, my father gave me the pasta roller/cutter and drying rack you can see in the image above for Christmas... Christmas 2019. (I might even have asked for them.) Which means I've had them throughout the pandemic of 2020-21. Despite all the "free" time that gave me away from restaurants, I never made any pasta until now. Why not? I guess I was intimidated. I thought it would be a lot of work. Turns out it is.

I got the recipe from my favorite cookbook, The Joy of Cooking, and I used advice I've picked up over the years watching Joe Bastianich criticize would-be Italian cooks on MasterChef. ("Salty like the ocean!") I understand now why that show always has so much footage of people struggling with pasta rollers. While the dough itself is a breeze, the little home consumer counter-mounted pasta roller is a bastard. I christened mine "Mussolini's Revenge."

So it is all a lot of trouble, but it might be worth it. I can now attest firsthand: fresh pasta is good eating.

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A month ago, the next door neighbor to our left sold her house. It's disappointing to lose a good neighbor, but it's perfectly reasonable that she should want to move closer to her grandchildren after the death of her husband, a very nice man who was also a former head of our local Board of Education.

The person who bought her house remains unseen. So far as I can tell, no one has moved in yet, but the house receives nearly daily shipments of packages, as though someone was redecorating with entirely new products purchased on Amazon.com. Earlier this week, they even delivered a car, a Mercedes-Benz. I've been joking that someone is building a safe house for spies.

Meanwhile, the neighbors to our right, a couple with young children, backed a U-Haul up to their house yesterday afternoon, and this morning they were gone, taking with them their dog who enjoyed coming into our yard and barking at me. Obviously, we were not as close to them, and their departure was very unexpected.

They left a rollaway dumpster in their driveway filled with furniture, including beds, dressers, and children's' bicycles. Why would anyone leaving a house in such a hurry take the time to throw so much of their stuff away? If it was an eviction, I'd think they would have just left the stuff where it was. If they sold and are moving, why not take the children's toys? The only reason I can think of for anyone to leave in such a state of disarray is because their house is haunted.

I am currently, quite literally, surrounded by mysteries.

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Autocorrect continues to plague me.

After Simone Biles withdrew from Olympic competition citing mental issues, I tried to Google the definition of "gymnastics twisties."

My autocorrect changed it to "gymnastics titties."

I'm sure they're nice, but that's not what I'm interested in (right now).

If it's true that the average man thinks about sex once every 7 seconds and that computers process information 10 million times faster than humans, how often does my computer think about sex?

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My father has problems with the way I communicate, but it's not always my fault.

I'm just a soul who's intentions are good.

I was texting some do-it-yourself instructions and tried to type the phrase "easy peasy."

My autocorrect changed it to "eat pussy."

If that's what my autocorrect thinks I should be saying, who am I to correct it?

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I am now fully vaccinated (2 shots + 2 weeks), which, according to the CDC, means that I can resume my life as "normal" before COVID-19 reached American shores. But what if I don't want to?

I *could* drive to my friends' houses, assuming that I can find gasoline (which is not in short supply but is suffering distribution issues after too many of my fellow Americans succumbed to panic following news reports of possible problems and bought up all the available toilet paper gasoline). But I've never been enthusiastic about leaving the house, and I find I am even less so now, even to spend time with people who I theoretically enjoy spending time with.

I *could* attend a movie, as I used to do before the entertainment world ground to a halt. But my favorite theater couldn't survive the economic downturn and is now boarded up. Besides, what's playing? The number one movie in America is Wrath of Man, and I get to see plenty of that on the evening news for free.

I *could* go to a sporting event, such as a minor league baseball game. But the thought of being surrounded by a crowd of people has always made me anxious, and that was back when the odds were low that the people sitting on either side of me could kill me with their breath. Football season doesn't start for months yet. I've paid for season tickets; will I be comfortable enough to venture forth by then?

Or I *could* stay under the covers in my bed in my basement, where the world can't reach me. I think I like that option best.

POSTSCRIPT: I just waded through many, many, many websites worth of evidence supporting — but, as they are quick to point out, not conclusively proving (because the Chinese government has been so thoroughly opposed to any investigation) — the theory that COVID-19 is a human creation that escaped a lab in true Michael Crichton-fashion. All the more reason to stay indoors, I think, where those mad scientists can't reach me.

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As any good head doctor will tell you, the best treatment for depression is keeping yourself distracted by doing something creative.


Walt Builds a Family Fallout Shelter, sponsored by the National Concrete Masonry Association, 1960

Bomb shelters for everyone!

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A regular op-ed columnist in the local newspaper — a former police officer — recently decried potential firearm regulation legislation using the justification that more people die annually drowning in swimming pools (2,616) than in mass shootings (446). That's a great point.

His argument convinced me. I mean, who cares how many innocent people are shot to death when there are people drowning? Obviously, if you don't want to drown, don't get in the water. And if you don't want to get shot to death, don't go to the grocery store. Problem solved!

You know what else kills people? Falling down. According to the CDC, falling killed 39,443 people in 2019. It'd be ridiculous to outlaw gravity, right? Handrails and walls are for pussies! If I want to wear shoes made from banana peels and K-Y Jelly tubes, that's my God-given right.

The next time someone assaults someone in a massage parlor or movie theater with 10,000 gallons of chlorinated water, I promise I'll support swimming pool control legislation.

Remember, kids: It's not guns that kill people. It's swimming pools.℠

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To be continued...

 

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