Global Warming and The Art of Home Improvement

A few months ago both of our sons moved back into our house after several years of roaming the countryside and terrorizing unsuspecting colleges. This visitation was a temporary arrangement made necessary by the fact that they had no money and nowhere else to go where they wouldn't be asked for money. So, being dutiful parents, we said they could come back for a while but only until they could find yet one more unsuspecting school. We reasoned, "this occupation shouldn't be that tough. After all, it's not like they were strangers. They had been under our roof at least 18 years of their lives and we hadn't been forced to kill and/or dismembered them during that entire period. Their little visit would hardly have an impact."

Just to be safe, we extracted the usual promises; I, _________(fill in the prodigal), promise on the head of my parents(probably a poor choice), that I won't leave wet towels, dirty dishes, dirty/clean laundry, spare body parts, unclaimed young women or used Q-tips anywhere but in their assigned and designated areas during my brief, very temporary visit to MY PARENT'S HOUSE.

It seemed like we had covered all the bases until we received our first electric bill. Our normally ridiculous bill of $200ish(that's $100ish per person, for those of you that are a product of the Indiana public school system) had been totally eclipsed for a new record total of $552. This for May, a full month before the temperature setting on the Central Florida sun goes from just hot to humid blast furnace. Now, let me say that I would like it to appear that I was doing something noble like helping to reduce the alleged global warming or trying to save one more tree from being hugged to death but no, I was motivated strictly by greed and the fact that I was going to have to listen to my wife as we paid the bills because somehow, after all, it would be my fault. I quickly reasoned that I better do something fast and appear to be a "husband of action" and that, for the sake of self preservation, it should also involve blaming the kids. I quickly surveyed the house and realized that, on this bright, sunny morning, aside from our two house cats, I was the only one home. Yet a nuclear glow and stereophonic sound seemed to come from under the each of the kid's closed bedroom doors. I slowly opened my oldest son's door, aka, CSI: Jared's Room and began to survey the carnage. Aside from the 7 wet towels and assorted plates filling every inch of horizontal surface, every light,...every electrically powered appliance, in their portion of the house seemed to be on. In fact, every appliance that they had ever actually touched, even in our previous houses, was now on and we were being billed for it. I called each of them on their respective cell phones in full attack mode and recited a litany of their sins but I quickly sensed the Homer Simpson, blank stare at the other end of the line. Never the less, I hung up determined to look like I was doing something or die trying.

On my last visit to Men's Mecca, IE, Home Depot, I remembered seeing an entire section of items dedicated to energy savings, so off I marched. I spotted the answer to my prayers, Motion Activated Lighting(MAL). That's it! No matter what the kids said or did, the lights would go out when they did. The directions seemed simple enough, even for me, so I bought a unit and headed home.

The directions did seem to place lot of emphasis on safety issues like turning off the power prior to placing bare wires in ones mouth, which I now know how not to do in 3 languages. OK now, truth time, how many of you guys have made a recent purchase of an item whose packaging contained those evil words "some assembly required" and found yourself at least half way through the first page of instructions before you realized you weren't reading the English version, if English is your language of choice, that is? Either we are all just looking at the pictures or we picked up a foreign language like French or Tagalog in our sleep, but I digress.

Now, with most safety precautions followed and the MAL control module installed, I just needed to test it. I had made the strategic decision that the guest bathroom, the one shared by both sons, seemed like the place to test out my cost control experiment. This decision was made in part because I don't think that these lights had actually been off, ever. I walked out of the room- then back in. A distinct BUZZ, followed by a constant HUMM and the lights flickered on...and stayed. Hey not bad! I did it and didn't even get hurt, like I usually do. I celebrated by using the toilet, standing up. After about 15 seconds, just enough time to find then adjust my aim, BUZZ and the lights were out. That's OK, I distinctly remember seeing a section on "time settings" clearly written in Tagalog on the instruction sheet. I'll just make a small adjustment.....but wait, as I prepared to move away from the toilet to the sink, BUZZ-HUMM lights on. As I slowly washed my hands, BUZZ-silence, darkness. The thought flashed through my mind of guests having to do a rousing rendition of "Y M C A" just so they could see what they were doing.

2 minutes of light per usage, that should be enough, I calculated and if it wasn't, then Dance Baby! As I made the adjustment, I got slightly careless with the tiny, fragile, little lever. Snap! It appeared that the little lever was broken and stuck at about 1/8 the maximum time setting, which I figured to be about 30 seconds. Uh oh, better hurry up there Slim or or get them dancin' shoes on. Not wanting to pay the $12 dollars for a new MAL switch, I told my sons, "that was how these things come and you better learn to hurry up. After all you guys are the reason I installed this anyway." Now, unless it is in the brightest part of the day, my wife just avoids that bathroom totally.

The boys, on the other hand did adapt, in fact we have even developed our own bathroom speak. If you have to go standing up, you usually have just enough time to get half way through before you have to "Stevie Wonder." This means that without using your hands(for obvious reasons), you have to rock from side to side until the sensor picks up your movement and BUZZ-HUMM. If you are sitting, it is a "Ray Charles" using much of the same motion but sitting, BUZZ-HUMM. By some initial reports, mostly from short female visitors, they occasionally had to break out a sitting "Y M C A" while executing a "Ray Charles". Reports of guests being forced to attempt this very technical maneuver seems to have highly agitated my wife. I have now discovered how to lower the sensing of the sensor which seemed to alleviate that problem but does seem to have created a new one.

Ragsie, one of our aforementioned cats, seems to have developed no social conscience whatsoever, in any of his nine lives but has discovered a fascination with his new power. All day and much of the night you can hear a BUZZ-HUMM as, for whatever cat reason, he marches in then out of the bathroom. I have, however, yet to catch him doing the "Y M C A".

Our new power bill arrived...$564.

REDBUGS AND MILWAUKEE POOP

Several years ago, my family and I moved to Central Florida after nearly thirty years in the Midwest. Once we determined which area we wanted to live in, we purchased a home. This house, built in the mid 80's, was well established and cared for and the previous owners had used the same lawn and pool services for years. Services? I don't need no stinking services. You've got to be kidding. They obviously didn't have any healthy teenage sons who would look for nearly any opportunity to walk around the yard sans shirt to show off their latest tattoo masterpiece to an audience of imaginary teenage girls. These former homeowners couldn't possibly possess the Midwestern farmers "do it yourself attitude." After all, I used to drive by suburban farms, occasionally and had once seen a farmer. I reasoned this couple was probably in need of counseling to help deal with low self esteem issues. What could possibly be so hard about controlling a few pests, weeds, mowing the lawn or adding a few chemicals to the pool, every so often?

As far as greening of the lawn, they obviously didn't know about the secret to a perfect Midwestern carpet. Milorganite is a fertilizer-like compound that is manufactured in Wisconsin. Now let's define manufactured(and "fertilizer-like" and "compound"for that matter). Milorganite stands for Milwaukee- organic- ite and is produced by your basic Milwaukee-ite. It is a solid by-product of their metropolitan sanitary district. In other words, it's poop, dried poop. Milwaukee, Wisconsin dried poop, to be precise, derived almost completely from the remnants of their diet, which of course, consists almost solely of cheese and beer. I used to try to draw some correlation between the quality of each years Milorganite batch to how well the Packers had done but was pretty much unsuccessful. In the North, all you had to do was liberally spread Milorganite around your yard, 4 times per year and you were the envy of greens keepers for miles around. Once, I even made an application when there was still snow on the ground. It created a bazaar scene, when, in my zeal to defeat my yard impaired neighbors, I actually had bright green lawn poking through the ice. How do you mow that?
In Florida, Milorganite did work it's magic and make the lawn greener, however, it seemed to have a slight side effect. In the Midwest it would make the lawn so thick and lush that it would eventually crowd out the weeds. In Florida however,.....we will only accept partial responsible for creating a new species of weed. Did you ever see "Little Shop Of Horrors"?

The pool also would be no problem at all. After all, I had watched the pool guy drive by and throw handfuls of chemicals, seemingly from his truck into the pool and our water was always crystal clear. Once I took over the maintenance, it took just a little while for my wife to get used to hearing the neighbors refer to our pool as the emerald isle. She even got used to standing in murky water, feeling something touch her leg and screaming, "what was that?"

As well as all these other tasks had gone , it was reasonable to assume the "pests" would also succumb and submit as easily as the rest. Most people think of alligators, sharks and rattle snakes when they think of The Sunshine State. In the future, I have an addition for you to consider....Invicta Solenopsis..AKA Red Bugs AKA Red Ants AKA Fire Ants. These little rascals seemed to be everywhere(in my yard). The first time I mowed my lawn(unable to locate a tattooed child), I noticed some small mounds that seemed rife with a little ant activity. They were so industrious and purposeful in their mission...."ouch, that little bugger bit me or something!" I gently crushed his little body against my burning ankle and continued mowing my lawn but made a mental note to revisit his little ant village later and take care of his relatives.

Lawn tools in Florida must be of the heaviest dutiest variety. In fact for a yard implement to survive in Florida, it must make regular visits to Barry Bonds physician, if you get my drift. If you don't buy the most steroid laden utensil available, it will either be dead or back at Home Depot before nightfall. With that thought in mind, I gleefully ripped open the box on my new 240 MPH CATEGORY 11, BEYOND HURRICANE STRENGTH, NUCLEAR POWERED LEAF BLOWER and began to clear my yard of grass clippings, small trees and years of debris. In using my new 240 MPHC11BHSNPLB, I think I inadvertently uncovered some Mayan ruins and possibly the skeletal remains of a woolly mammoth or two, but that's for another story.
Anyway, armed with my new toy I visited the soon to be former village of the little bugger who stung me on the leg. My thinking? Why spend the time and money to remove the aunt hill(*note to self-there is no way to remove these demonic insects from hell) the proper way. I'll just blow them all to smithereens with my brand new toy. Which is exactly what I did. Within the blink of an eye, the entire mound was gone from sight and mixed into the swirling breeze due to the hurricane force, nuclear infused winds of my leaf blower. Now, let me ask you a question. What happens when you take a foot soldier and put him into the sky? Right, one word, AIRBORNE!!! Soon, many of the little monsters that I thought I had offed were dropping on my head and down the back of my shirt, like a bad shower. As the pain and stinging began to sink in, I started to run around the yard, screaming and rubbing my head and back on anything that I thought would scrape the aunts off. As a final desperate effort, I dove headlong into the emerald isle. My wife responded by screaming, "What was that?"

Once the swelling and bleeding had stopped, I moved on to remove the vines that had encapsulated our pool enclosure but I digress.....

SLAVES TO FASHION?


All right, I can't keep my fingers(the literary equivalent of my mouth) still anymore. We have to talk about fashion or the lack there of, especially in the young and also those who haven't realized they aren't any more.

It doesn't take an exceptionally queer eye to see there is something really bazaar about the direction clothing has taken in the past 10 years or so. I have lived through the Nehru jacket, platform shoes with fish in them, dickies, Beatle boots,velour jogging and leisure suits and Flow Bees, that come equipped with a "Mullet" setting, so I know bad fashion when I see it. First, I guess you need to understand that these comments are coming from a guy who does the bulk of his shopping in the "challenged" section of the Big, Tall and Beyond store. Also, as spiritual as I like to come off, I have to admit that the fact that I can wear shorts, golf shirt and a pair of deck shoes to church, whenever I want, did come into play in my selection of my current house of worship. So you kind of get an inkling of my fashion priorities but in light of my own fashion challenges, here's my rub with the young and young wannabes.

GUYS-Guys are wearing their clothes, especially their drawers, so big they almost fall off. It just makes me want to "pants" someone each time I see it. Their boxers stick up a full 6 inches higher than their belt loops. The first time I saw this, I thought the guy was wearing a paisley cumberbun. I've got to figure this arrangement creates quite a fishing expedition when a guy unzips his fly in the men's room. Actually, this style is not too far afield from my 86 year old neighbor, Fluffy, who putzes around his yard in an ancient pair of saggy cut offs and knee high socks with flip flops, strangely dingie boxers, no shirt and suspenders. He is probably totally oblivious to the fact that he has become a haute' couture diva and that he, A.K.A. Fluff Daddy and P Diddy are the driving force behind a giant fashion engine.

GIRLS-Girls, on the other hand are now wearing things so tight that every bump, pimple and ripple of their skin is on display. One question, who told them this was attractive? Was I hiding in the Beyond store that day? I think this whole trend started when a well-known actress was pregnant with Methuselah, Telullah, Rumor, Gossip or another one of her brood. A national magazine got the brainy idea to have her pose on the cover, nude and preggers, as they say in the U.K. Now, I am all for promoting the culture of life and happened to think that my wife was beautiful when she was pregnant with our kids. But that's me and she's my wife....Now, fast forward a decade(ions in fashion years) and you have way too many women who just look somewhat pregnant wearing way to revealing clothing. I guess I subscribe to the idea that just because they made it with your size on the label, doesn't mean you should wear it. Here's an oxymoron. If you wear a belly shirt, you shouldn't have one.

CELEBRITIES-Now, let's follow this time line. Celebrity, naked and pregnant-is photographed for the cover of a rag, Pop tarts and other celebrity types join in, "hip" celebrity wannabees, pregnant and the pregnant-lite copy them, as belly shirt becomes mainstream. Soon, Walmart Wilma with her gut, saggies, tattoos and lip-dangling cigarette, rears her tooth deficient head. From there it's only a hip-hop, skip and a jump to Billy Bob or Shawanne in a tube top, culottes and a tattoo of a daisy protruding from his crack. You know, you start with an actress who feels the world ought to know how beautiful she is, even when she looks like she is smuggling a beach ball out of K-mart and the next thing you know you have fashion chaos. The age at which young girls wear revealing clothing keeps dropping, as well. A woman I work with brought in a photo of her recent ultrasound. In the grainy picture, I swear you could make out the baby wearing a tiny belly shirt. I have heard, but been unable to confirm, that they are about to unveil a line of "thong" pampers for the next fashion season.

TATTOOS-As long as I have your attention, lets' talk about tattoos. It seems that everybody that has one, has to show it off, every day, all the time. Hey, the only people that care about your tattoo are you, the tattooist you paid to brand you and the guy who's not going to hire you.

UNDERWEAR-This brings us to "the skimpies and flimsies" as Jed Clampett once called them. Okay, what weird and perverted person invented thong underwear?Surely, no one who had to wear them. That can't be comfortable, really. I thought most people outgrew "wedgies" in grade school. Now, style indentured women have self-inflicted wedgies and pay handsomely for it. If they made the prisoners at GITMO wear these, Amnesty International would be on the next plane to Cuba. No matter what is seen in the minds eye, truth be told, most of us would resemble a summo wrestler in search of a an opponent,if made to wear a thong to pad around the house. And another thing, once extricated from these instruments of torture, do the wearers remove the undies from their laundry basket and deliver them to the washing machine with a stick? Yuck! What do women with hemorrhoids......Never mind...

HAIR-OK finally, let's talk about hair. Are you crazy? No, really I mean it. We have entered a coiffure era that defies all past logic. In the old movies, how could you always identify the "whack job?" Right, by the weird and unkempt hair. Look around you. I'll bet that there is at least one person, based solely on hairstyle, that in past years would be certifiable. The men in white coats would be marching them off in a straight jacket, to the boobie hatch instead off to a beauty salon to have their hair patch-colored chartreuse and faux mohawked. There is a woman who sings in our church choir. She is attractive and aside from her hair, appears to be quite "with it" but normal. I'm sure that she pays a great deal for her hairstyle and goes to some snooty place with a trendy French name that probably only excepts payment in Euros. In the name of good stewardship, I have thought of offering to take over her hair management. I figure with a ten dollar pair of battery powered Mr. Snippys, a kitchen whisk and a tube of Elmer's Glue and I could accomplish the same feat that her snooty salon does. Then she would have all those extra Euros to spend on more tattoos, belly shirts and butt floss... but I digress.