The Lure of Bug Sex, Of Course.

This is a story that begins many years ago.  My girlfriend-now-wife and I lived in Belmont, MA circa 2001 in a two-family house with an outdated kitchen.  We quickly discovered that we shared our apartment with the moths also known as "pantry pests."  

It didn't help that my wife had seen a news segment on pantry pests not long before we moved in. Upon realizing what we had, she explained to me (with terror in her eyes) what we were dealing with.

The moths find their way into bread and cereals, lay little eggs which hatch, giving birth to little worms that eventually turn into winged 'nasties' that eventually fly around our kitchen.  The moths can get around cabinets, boxes, bags, and into and out of the food.  In fact, the eggs may have been in the food before we even brought it home from the store.

How did we fix our immediate infestation?  The lure of bug sex, of course.  Traps designed to capture the pests are laced with moth pheromones.  

According to the advertisement, the pheromones attract the pests who then fly into the trap and stick to it's glue-covered sides.  When we bought a package of the traps and opened them nonchalantly in the kitchen, we were swarmed by a dozen pantry pests within minutes!  They came crawling out of whatever cabinet, box, and container in which they were hibernating with high hopes of bug intercourse.  Despite having other pests flying about looking for sex, they were still more interested in the promise of better sex in that contraption.  One by one, they stuck to the glue.  How stupid they must have felt, lying there aroused and surrounded by available moths yet hopelessly stuck to a wall covered in adhesive and synthetic hormones.

What if this worked on humans? A cop car could simply pull up to a house where a criminal was believed to be hiding.  The officer could open a package containing human pheromones and watch the thug come running out of his house and into the cruiser where they would stick to glue-covered seats.  Of course the whole neighborhood might show up and citations would most likely be given for public indecency.  

We left the traps out overnight and were pleased to find more pests caught in the trap. The problem was solved for the time being.  However, we occasionally saw a pest fly about and we would promptly get out the pheromones. "

We began to take preventative measures by keeping cereals and bread in Tupperware containers.  When pests continued to appear from our cabinets, we moved these items to the refrigerator.  Eventually we bought a new house and moved 50 miles away.  They surely won't find us there, we thought.  And we were right.  However, we continued to keep our flour-based foods in the refrigerator.  After several months, I suggested to my wife that we remove the cereals and snacks from the fridge.  

"No. What is more air tight than a fridge? We don't want the nasties to come back, ok?" 

"Ok."

Since then, our bread-like foods and grains have only tripled thanks to hungry little kids.  Unfortunately our new house did not have a walk-in "cold room", but rather a kitchen cubby hole that was designed to fit only the smallest fridge on the market.  The current inventory includes:

• Seven boxes of cereal including a village-sized (as in it takes a village to eat it before it expires) Honeycomb box.  It's big enough to create the illusion of a solar eclipse when placed too close to the kitchen windows.
• Four open bags of pretzels: thin fat-free, minis, pretzel sticks, and peanut butter sandwich pretzels.
• One open bag of Veggie Booty.
• Two open bags of Goldfish.
• Two partial loaves of bread.
• One open bag of Chex mix.
• Two open bags of cookies.
• One open bag of sugar.
• One open bag of flour.
• One partially eaten Apple Cake.

Add to that everything else that normal families keep in their refrigerator, and you have a fridge that is always full.  Getting anything out, typically results in a Kellogg's Avalanche.  The light bulb is useless given the amount of items on the top shelf.

Because salt looks like sugar and is white and granular like flour, we keep it in the fridge also.  As my neighbor mentioned while pointing and laughing at it's fridge door location, salt is a preservative.  That's should be enough to explain how far we haven't come.

It didn't help that a couple weeks ago, we accidentally ordered too much milk.  We order some of our groceries online so when it arrived one Saturday morning, we had to make it fit.  Stop for a moment and re-read the inventory above.  Add normal people fridge foods. Now add 8 gallons of milk. 

This scene wouldn't normally frustrate me.  I would usually just have a beer and laugh it off.  However, I can't reach the beer past the milk and cereals.  In fact, I can't even see the beer thanks to a useless light bulb and a solar eclipse that occurs every time I try to move the Honeycombs out of the way.

(photo credit)

Washing Machine Karma

Washing machines and I have never really had good relations.  This past weekend, our troubled relationship took yet another turn (or spin, depending on which party you ask).  

I should first provide some background.  The machine we bought a couple years ago (which I will refer to as the "old" machine), has had three major issues which led us to purchase the "new" machine discussed at the end of this post.  

The first problem with the old machine is that we bought a device that has been well trained in the art of sock digestion.   We first discovered the machine's over-eating sock problem when a service technician produced 4 mismatched toddler socks, one child-sized washcloth, a Swiss army knife, and 37 cents in coins.   This was causing the washer constipation and subsequent system backup, passive aggressive behavior (repeatedly blinking a nonsense code, E-21), and refusal to cooperate.  

The second time the machine started behaving this way, I resisted my Inner Engineer and called the service hotline so as not to void our warranty.  However, I couldn't help but contemplate the true meaning of 'E-21.'  The user manual wasn't helpful and only recommended that I call for a highly trained washer technician.  Two weeks, a dozen rolls of quarters, and a few trips to the laundromat later, the technician produced six toddler socks, a rock from the garden, and an unidentified pink plastic object.  

The third time, my Inner Engineer lost his patience.  Thankfully, the warranty had expired.  I quickly removed the lower front panel, disconnected the drain pipe, and freed more objects.  These included five toddler socks, eight quarters, and large pieces of plastic which once contained rolls of quarters.  I have since realized that a mesh bag, sold at most stores, should be used for small articles of clothing when using a front-loading washer.  After I extracted the items, I spent hours and hours trying to replace the drain pipe with it's impossible tension clamp.  I now know why they invented adjustable clamps and am convinced that tension clamps are only sold to highly trained washer technicians.  But, what really bothered me about this particular trip to the washer's belly is what I discovered taped to the inside of the lower front panel; a service manual with E-21 and other codes explained in great detail.  When I bought the machine, I apparently forgot to ask for the manual that comes taped to the outside of the machine.

The second major issue is that our clothes sometimes come out smelly.  As this is a washing machine, there is nothing funny about that.  Try going into a 9am Monday morning meeting smelling like mold and tell me how much you laughed.

The third major issue with the old machine is that it tried to eat a sock with it's fancy front-loading door.  The sock, pinned firmly in the closed door, tried so hard to free itself that it stretched out the rubber gasket around the door.  This resulted in a less-than-perfect seal and a path of least resistance for dirty water.  The gasket stretched out and the machine's lip now had a tongue that drools.  We have tried duct tape, a folded wash cloth, and denial.  This has resulted in glue problems, a moldy wash cloth, and a wet floor respectively.  In the end, we chose the moldy wash cloth which still delivers a small amount of water to a collection device (a strategically placed upside-down tin trivial pursuit lid).

So after only a couple years with the old machine, we bought a new one.  It arrived last Friday. When purchasing the machine at the store, my Inner Engineer asked for the manual that gets taped to the outside of the machine and opted against the connector hoses.  My first request was ignored, while the second was not.  I first connected the supply hoses and was immediately pleased with how well it was going.  I had visions of problem-free washing ahead.  The dream was over when I realized that the drain hose was too short.  It was unable to extend over the dryer and up a few feet to the house's drain pipe.  I couldn't swap it with the dryer, because the dryer's power cord would then be too short.  I have ordered a longer drain hose and expect it to arrive this week.  In the meantime, we are using the old machine.

Therefore, I have finally decided that I have the worst Washing Machine Karma.  This has led me to think about my karma and consider ways in which good karma in one area of my life might balance with bad karma in another area.  For example, I have very Good Parking Karma.  I first discovered this when I met my wife who lived in the North End of Boston which, with it's narrow streets, has notoriously few parking options.  I almost always found a great spot.  This was often true anytime I drive into the city or around a full parking lot.  Good parking spots make themselves available to me.

But, I wondered what would happen if I were trying to park a washing machine in the city?  Would my bad washer karma result in hours of pushing my washer around downtown looking for somewhere to park it?  Once I did park it, would I have to remove the lower front panel looking for change to feed the parking meter?

Or would my good parker karma prevail and uncover parking spots whenever I wheeled my washer into the city?  Would my washer attract generous folks on their way to the laundromat while armed with rolls of quarters?  If I were to bring a long extension cord, my washer might even work to pay it's own parking meter.  However, I would hang a sign that read: "BYOB: Bring Your Own (mesh) Bag!"

(photo courtesy)

Belushi and Akroyd's Kids Would Be Proud

My son (age 3 and 6/12ths) is obsessed with letters, which some of my readers might recall from a previous story.  So, I wasn't surprised when I picked him up the other night and he was cheerily singing the letter 'w'.

"w w w!"

"w w w!"

"w w w!"

He sang this over and over again, three w's in rapid succession until we pulled in the driveway when I asked, "why do you like w so much today?"

He smiled and responded, "pbskids."  

There was a brief pause and then he smiled again and said, "dot org!"

It then occurred to me that he's been watching too much television lately.  At least the "tell your parents about this" advertising is working well.  

When we unloaded the car and got settled in the house, he was still singing his new song.   But, he was now singing the blues. Literally.

With harmonica in hand, the song went like this:

"w w w"

(harmonica riff)

"pbskids"

(harmonica riff)

"dot"

(harmonica riff)

(harmonica riff)

"org..."

(harmonica riff)

(harmonica riff)

(harmonica riff)

He then spiraled out of control into the livingroom while playing the harmonica wildly.

Singing the blues for public television.  Even kids are sensitive to the impact of the economic downturn on non-profits.

Things That Go Oink in the Night

We have a couple LED flashlight key chains whose sole purposes are to keep the kids entertained on occasion.  For example, when the 300+ toys in their playroom aren't enough, a $1 key chain can do the trick.  One is a pig and another is a frog.  They each emit a twice repeated animal sound and shine a bright blue LED light.  The pig's light is emitted through it's nostrils and the frog's through it's mouth.

We keep our pigchain and frogchain in a kitchen drawer where we also keep silverware. We  sometimes place our children's toys near sharp objects.  This works for us because the toys divert their attention away from the hazardous utensils.  I'll admit that it doesn't always work; the strategy is flawed.

A couple weeks ago, the button on the pigchain got stuck which resulted in a continuous oink. The robotic "oink oinks" were repeated at a rate of one per second.

Oink oink

Oink oink

Oink oink

As any father and loving husband would, I tried for an unreasonable amount of time to un-stick the button.  My efforts were to no avail.  Therefore, I did the next best thing.  I simply placed the pork next to a fork and closed the drawer.  

By now, the kids had already forgotten about the pig.  But, my wife and I were haunted by the quiet and muffled sound of the pig in the kitchen drawer.

Oink oink

Oink oink

Oink oink

"Are you just going to leave it in there?" asked my wife.

"He'll stop oinking eventually," I replied morbidly.

Later that evening as we cleaned up the kitchen, we could still hear him whenever we approached the silverware drawer.  As I headed towards the stairs for the night, I was greeted as I am every night by my son's talking number puzzle.  It seems that toys are talking to me constantly and without reason.  This particular puzzle usually speaks when the lights go on or off.  On this particular night, lights out prompted a "Nine" which I remember vividly for it was also the time on the clock.  The talking puzzle tends to get personal with a loud "Zero" when I'm feeling overly critical of myself.

The next morning, the search for a spoon to stir my coffee also reminded me of our dying pigchain.  He was still oinking, but much quieter now and most likely feeling defeated.  I was sad, but needed coffee and moved on.

Since then, the pig has been quietly laying in the drawer.  That is, until yesterday when my son rediscovered him.  And to our amazement, his little fingers brought the pig back to life!  In reality, the "little pig that could" had a bit more oink left after all.  The kids were pleased for another 10 minutes until the oink was gone once more.  Back in the drawer, the pig was forgotten again.

This morning, I pressed the pig's button one last time to discover that the pig had lost his oink forever. 

RIP Pigchain.

We'll miss you.

At least until the coffee is done brewing.

Invicipimple

I recently went to the dermatologist.  My primary reason for making the appointment was for a small cyst on my chin.  The cyst originally pretended to be a pimple, but decided to stick around for the holidays.  Even after a few weeks of denial, I was convinced that it was an invincible pimple and occasionally tried without success to eliminate the zit.  I have since named it "The Invincipimple," despite it's new diagnosis.

When I arrived at the doctor's office, the waiting room was filled with the sounds of the Beatles.  The track playing, "Twist and Shout", was a coincidental reminder of what happened when I discovered that the Invincipimple wasn't a pimple after all. When I literally took things into my own hands, it hurt so much that jumped up and down while howling for forgiveness by the Gods of Personal Hygiene.

The receptionist asked me to complete a registration form.  I was disappointed that there wasn't a question about skin size, because I had already calculated my SFOS (Square Feet of Skin) just in case.  Instead, I got stuck on a couple real questions in the Insurance section of the document.

Subscriber: ______________

Relationship to Subscriber: ______________

I am the subscriber to my health insurance and hence answered the first question with my full name, but the second question really forced me to ponder the question.  What is my relationship with myself?  At first, I decided that the space allotment for this question was clearly not enough.  Where do I start?  Overall, my relationship with myself is quite positive.  I can be very self-conscious and overly critical of myself. I know myself very well, better than when I first met myself (which is way before I can remember).  I am my best friend. I love myself but love other people more.  Sometimes I get annoyed with myself, but it only makes it worse when I can't get a break from myself.  I once tried to take a vacation without myself, but I was hurt and went along anyways after I apologized to me.  So, my relationship with myself is pretty good. But that's not really what they want to know...

Subscriber: Tyler James Aldredge.

Relationship to Subscriber: Self.

'Self' rhymes with 'Elf', but I digress.  'Tis the season.

After completing the registration form, I looked around the full waiting room.  A man and a woman had struck up a conversation earlier and had by now reached the flirtation stage of the discussion.  The Beatles, now singing "Do You Want to Know A Secret?", prompted me to wonder when these two would come clean (so-to-speak).  At some point in their relationship, they would have the discussion.

"So....why were you at the dermatologist?"

"I dunno. Why were you there?"

I wondered if this would happen on the first date? Second date? Or would they wait until, well, skin was the topic at hand?

The Beatles continued to sing.

"Listen,

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?, whoa oh, oh."

I decided to keep quiet.  So did my Self.

Got a Spare Shadow?

The local YMCA has a gymnastics class for toddlers called "Me and My Shadow."  This morning while at the YMCA to register my son for the class, I resisted the urge to suggest that as adults we should set a good example and rename the class "My Shadow and I."  Instead I asked a more practical question. 

"Should my son bring his own shadow or will the teacher provide one?"  

L Forever in Eternity

WBZ in Boston was reporting on the recent death of Bettie Page a 1950s centerfold. The newscaster finished the segment about her life's accomplishments (the ones she did with clothes on) by saying "She even had her own website." May she and her URL rest in peace.

When I finally leave this earth and WBZ is reporting on my achievements as an acclaimed humor writer, I hope they finish with a similar statement: "He even had his own blog." In fact, please put it on my headstone.

Tyler James

Beloved husband, father, son, brother, colleague, acquaintance, neighbor, 

and 

jerk that wrote silly things about me sometimes.

He will always be in our hearts and constantly on our mind.

He even had his own blog.

May he LOL forever in eternity. Well, not really OL but L.

Collection

To The Management of the Natick Collection:

Please accept this letter of apology. During your advertising campaign last summer, I unjustifiably ridiculed your decision to rename the Natick Mall. After your first plan to name the mall simply "Natick", you chose an even more laughable title with "The Natick Collection." According to a local news brief, use of the word Collection to attract upscale stores, sophisticated shoppers, and oblivious tourists is popular in getaway destinations such as Bellevue, WA and Troy, MI.  With this, I considered my research on absurdity to be complete.

I scoffed at your suggestion that this name would be more appropriate for the upscale stores. A collection? It sounds like something that might collect dust, no?  Besides, it's the Natick Mall. It will always be the Natick Mall.  You may have built a new fancy wing with a glass ceiling providing sunlight for your new fancy shoppers, but the "old section" (as it is now called) is still windowless and so 1990s.  Feuds between eternal enemies, mall rats and mall walkers, may flare up as they struggle to claim new turf (albeit marble instead of linoleum) in the new expansion wing.  That is, if they dare venture into the sunlight.  

However, I must give you the benefit of the doubt.  If I were filthy rich thanks to oblivious tourists and image-conscious shoppers, I might actually buy or create enough malls to call it a Collection too.  This leads me to wonder if I would get together with my mall-collector friends and trade?  

Hey, let's flip malls!   We'll each toss a mall towards the wall and he or she whose mall lands closest, keeps both malls!  Or we can make it easier and I'll trade you my Natick Collection for your Troy Collection AND your Bellevue Collection.  And I'll just GIVE you my "Starta Collection" trademark. My lawyer said it wasn't a liability. Or did he say asset? Aw heck, who cares. It's yours. That's what best mall-collector friends do!

I laughed even harder the first time I went to the Collection. I discovered that it had actually gone upscale as intended and attracted a few customers that will at least pretend to shop at those high-end stores. They even turned their noses up at my kids who were joyfully playing on your upscale couches.  The venue's new image even gave the security guard reason to be a snob, lecturing the kids about how not to touch the water fountain or make fun of his career choice.  

We did venture into one of your new stores.  The very serious staff at the chocolate store, which has since closed, were far from family-friendly.  As we stood in line pondering what $6 piece of $1 chocolate we would split four-ways, our kids started to explore the empty store.  They were in fact, extremely well-behaved in that moment.  As my daughter approached a comfy chair, the manager ran interference and explained that he didn't want a mess on his furniture.  He must have seen my son try to write his name with jam-covered fingers on the leather couch near the Concierge.  Is there really a concierge at the mall? I digress.  We left annoyed and disappointed that we didn't get to taste rich people chocolate.  However, it all worked out in the end because we needed the $6 for the valet tip.

You must be wondering when the apology part of this letter will appear.  A recent news story explained that you are filing for bankruptcy.  Therefore, I sincerely apologize for lampooning the name that you selected for your beloved mall.  The Collection was not a silly name after all.  In the end, it was actually quite forward-looking.  

Sincerely,

A Mall Rat from Framingham

Air Mommy

Yesterday, my kids were behaving so well at the grocery store that my wife and I decided to give them each a balloon.  While paying for the ingredients for our Potato Leek Soup, my wife made a joke about double-bagging the Leeks just in case....well you know.  Although she couldn't evoke a laugh out of the cashier, who probably thought they were mutant scallions, my Inner Humorist was pleased. 

While looking around to see if the joke was overheard, my son accidentally let go of his balloon.  Just as I turned, I noticed my wife leaping high into the air with arms outstretched in an attempt to catch it.  This quick-thinking mommy got major air.  I suspect that she put one foot on the bottom rack of the grocery cart and got more traction on the candy rack on her way up.  Or did she? 

Unfortunately, the balloon had different plans and floated to the rafters.  As my wife consoled our son, the cashier ordered another balloon (less helium this time).  All in a day's fun.

Accidental Pirate - Part 1

This is the only piece of fiction (so far) on the blog.  It's the first part of a short story.  I'm posting with the hope that feedback (good/bad/all) will point me towards the end of the story or away from fiction.

************************************************************

This has gone too far, I thought.

My car and I were idling in the high school parking lot a few blocks from home. My thighs were sticking to my jeans, and my jeans to the car seat. The sweat on my forehead was serving a dual function as coolant and calming agent. My heart and mind were still racing wildly as if trying to out-pace each other.

I wondered how long I had been sitting there. The large lot was empty and I was parked firmly in the middle and facing the school gymnasium. From this angle, I would see them coming from any angle.

My brain was reprocessing the events leading up to today. When I was 10 years old, my family and I had a summer outing to a nearby water amusement park. We were ambushed by a band of pirates soon after we arrived. Granted, they attacked us with balloons and songs, but I was clearly effected by the incident for I suffered from pirate-phobia ever since that day.

A few months ago, my wife suggested that we plan an Alaskan cruise and recommended that I get therapy for my phobia which would otherwise prevent me from enjoying the trip. My mind had already started imagining icicle-wielding bandits hiding in the glaciers. Last week, after several weeks dissecting my phobia, my therapist discussed exposure therapy as a possible way to overcome my fears. We created a hierarchy of pirate attributes that triggered my anxiety. From least to most provoking, the list looked like this:

Peg Leg

Hook

Walking the Plank

A Talking Parrot on the Shoulder

Eye Patch

Pirate's Outfit

Pirate Language

Ambush and Surprise

It was a complete surprise when I arrived at her office and she was wearing a cheap Halloween hook on her hand and a contraption that gave her the appearance of being peg-legged. Although I knew that it was irrational, I immediately tensed up and experienced the early signs of a panic attack. We slowly worked through my aversion to the pirate garb. By the end of the session, we had discussed the unlikelihood that I would ever encounter a one-hooked, peg-legged person again. Once I was calm again, she had me walk the plank. The plank was actually a cinder block wall along the office driveway. I didn't actually walk off the plank and I was relieved to know that she couldn't actually find a real plank.

I unclenched my fist damp with anxiety, revealing the note that I had received only moments ago. when delivered to my door by a courier.

Or was it hours ago?

With one eye closed in disbelief, I read the note again.

"Wear it all day."

I crumpled the note again, lowered the window, and threw it as far as I could.

I could wear it all day, but the pirate's eye patch was still in the delivery box in the garden. The container didn't have a return address. But, yesterday's events had made me cautious. I had carefully pulled out the note, read it's horrible message, and launched the box into the marigolds. As my tires squealed on the driveway as I reversed into the street, I caught a glimpse of the black eye wear which had been partially ejected from the package.

The trees that surrounded the parking lot provided a sense of security. However, the longer I sat in my car the more the parking lot felt like an ocean with yellow lines in a perfect yet broken pattern of waves that seemed to bring the trees closer. The pine trees, with their tall masts and broad leafy sails, were floating towards me.

It was 3:00 in the afternoon and I was getting ready for my job as the evening supervisor at the clinical testing lab at the hospital when the package had arrived.

To Be Continued

I Slow Down for Rear Ending

I was driving behind a car that had a bumper sticker that said "I Slow Down for TailGaters."

The car's rear bumber had a lot of multi-colored scratches and dents that were clearly from collisions.   The car was otherwise in perfect shape.  

As this driver was surely one of the best, I didn't hesitate to drive behind them along the river road.  I was about 30 feet behind them when they unexpectedly slammed on their brakes.  Naturally, the gap closed and I was upon them quickly.  They then sped up until the gap was even bigger than before.  This happened five more times.  

So, I conclude that the driver of this car wants to make a tailgater of each of us.  In fact, I have only once been an unintentional tailgater and you just read the story.

Make an EZ-Pass at Me

If you are still searching for the perfect gift for your loved one this holiday season, look no further. The Massachusetts Turnpike is selling $30 and $50 gift certificates to FastLane. These will also work on the EZ-Pass and more obscure FlashDrive toll plazas too.  They can also be used towards other Turnpike gift items such as:

*Turnpike T-Shirts including ones that read "Make an EZ-Pass at Me and I'll Transpond Positively" or "It's Been a Long Strange Trip"

*Bumper stickers such as "I Brake (A Lot) for the Mass Pike" and (in small font) "If You Can Read This, You're on the Mass Pike"

*Official Turnpike Travel Pillows and Blankets (just in case)

Besides, electronics are out.  Tolls are in.  Friends don't let friends pay tolls with cash, especially when they can be idling hands-free in the adjacent lane.  The days of chucking coins into a tiny basket with one-eye closed as you barrel through a narrow toll booth are gone. Instead of digging around for change under floor mats, spend your time people watching or reading the toll plaza sponsorship ads such as "These once-living and now carbon-monoxide infused flowers were donated by Scrub-and-ScrubSomeMore Car Wash."

To my friends who were initially planning to pay off my heating bill for Christmas:

Please instead pay my tolls with this wonderful gift idea. I'll think of you each morning as I inch through the toll plaza. The green light that normally mocks my 1 mph crawl towards work will instead remind me of your thoughtfulness. How could I possibly engage in road rage where 15 toll lanes become three when your holiday generosity has made my trip possible.

I thought paying a loved one's bills was the ultimate gift until I discovered the EZ-Gift. In fact, I purchased $30 turnpike gift cards for each of you this year. Unfortunately, I will need to borrow them back to pay the Turnpike Authority for the $25 bounced check fees. I would have made a deposit at the bank sooner, but I haven't been travelling much since I burned through the Mobil Gas Gift Cards you gave me last year (didn't you see the gas prices last summer??). I expect that you will be upset about this, but you will have $5 remaining on your FastLane account. Please come visit me on Exit 13 and we can discuss.

Squarely in a Diamond

I'm at crossroads. A decision point. On a flow diagram, I would be squarely in the middle of a diamond if that's possible.

I hope to write everyday, but finding the time is difficult. My blog started as a template for my creative writing. I found that I enjoy writing about everyday events in story form. However, this had always prevented me from sharing it because I only wanted to produce "completed" pieces. However, in finding humor all around me, I can't help but want to simply write about it and not worry about completeness. I worry that I write more casually, fewer stories will result. Will it still be good? It's still unclear.

But, I am often told by my better half that I am too extreme in my decision making process. Why does it have to be one or the other? She makes a great point. I can try to do both and see where it leads. Perhaps these two seemingly different styles will merge into one.

I have also wondered if my blog would be more interesting if I posted photographs of some things that make me laugh out loud each day. Please give me feedback here. With that, here are a few.

Tonight when I got home from work, I found the following Globe magazine and Tweeter circular together, just as shown. 60% off everything at Tweeter is a dream come true, but what more can a nun wish for than a discounted subwoofer?

Even Puppy was too tired to eat all of his dinner and pretzel snacks.