By: John Carlson— The other day I was hurriedly deleting spam posts from my email when one slugged “toco warranty” caught my eye. That’s right. It read, “toco warranty.” At least, I’m pretty sure it did. Just for the record, I have NO idea what a “toco warranty” is, let alone what protection a warranty for a toco would provide. Still, I was momentarily stunned by the sight of this, thinking that perhaps I had misread it. “Did that post…
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By: John Carlson— Well, this certainly sucks. Meaning the coronavirus, of course. Good old COVID-19. By now we all know it has spurred some significant life changes, and not just in the fact it can be hard to buy toilet paper and hand sanitizer, and we can’t sit inside restaurants or – ‘scuse me while I dab the tears from my eyes – bars anymore. Like many folks, what it’s done to the stock market makes me want to flat-out hurl….
By: John Carlson— The more reading I do on computers, the more I appreciate books. Not that, under certain certain circumstances, I don’t appreciate some electronic gizmos as well, you understand. Nancy and I both carry around Kindles. Mine is stuffed with so many e-books, if they had actual pages and covers I’d have to wear a truss. For example, in book form, writer Ron Chernow’s hardcover, best-selling biography of Union general and former president Ulysses S. Grant weighs in…
By: John Carlson— I already know what Nancy is buying me later this year for my seventieth birthday. Hearing aids. It’s not that I want hearing aids. Nor do I need hearing aids. Do we have occasional problems communicating verbally? Sure we do. And does she keep blaming this on what she considers my woeful hearing? Sure she does. But as I keep reminding her, I have trouble hearing her because the older she gets, the less distinctly she pronounces…
By: John Carlson— Even in these divisive times, if there is one thing I think most Americans can agree upon it’s this: There’s no such thing as too much horseradish. This basic premise was reinforced for me the other day when, prior to downing the delicious glob of deli baked beans I had spooned from a two-pound plastic container onto my dinner plate, I forked on a healthy dollop of fresh horseradish. Then I mixed them together. One taste and…
By: John Carlson— The other day I was at a popular local entertainment venue when I noticed that, as usual, the line to the men’s restroom was three people long, whereas the line to the women’s restroom was about twenty-three people long. “You know,” I cheerfully announced, just trying to be helpful, “if you gals would quit playing parlor games in there, you’d get in and out a lot quicker.” In response, one of them laughed bitterly. The others shot…
By: John Carlson— Every time I hear loud, mysterious noises coming from our crawlspace, I am thankful for being a fat guy. I don’t hear the noises all that often, though. Nancy, on the other hand, hears loud, mysterious noises coming from our crawlspace all the time, but in its own way this is even worse for me. See, having been raised a conservative Baptist, I firmly believe in biblical absolutes, including God’s divinely mandated division of household duties by gender….
By: John Carlson— Not long ago I was at my doctor’s office when, following a quick knock, a nice young internist entered to check my ankles for whatever nice young internists check old guys’ ankles for. Lifting my pants legs a couple inches, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! Those are fun!” Meaning my socks. This, I must admit, struck me as a foreign concept. I’ve had a fair amount of fun in my life, but none that I recall has been…
By: John Carlson— When the end of the world arrives, I think it will come riding in on a Roomba. That’s my dire prediction, after talking with my friends John and Amy Mickle the other day. They have a new Roomba, which is one of those little circular robots that cruises around their house all by itself, cleaning the floors and carpets. Understandably, they love it. Of course, Nancy and I have a Roomba, too, except ours is one of…
By: John Carlson— The older and lazier I get, the more enthusiastically I embrace an innovative style of dancing which I developed back in my middle-aged years. The key to it? Don’t move your feet. It’s amazing how, for many guys, not moving your feet while dancing turns an otherwise onerous activity into a slightly less onerous activity. Not for all guys, though! Even way back at our middle-school sock hops, there were some guys who loved nothing more than…