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The Battle of the Bed

300 years ago, when I was happily married, ahem, nothing instigated a couple’s fight more than the daily making of the bed. I spent my fair share of time being a stay-at-home dad when the kids were preschool age. My main duty in this position, which was the greatest, most worth-while job I’ve ever had, was to make sure the house was in order before my wife came home. This included the following two parts: Clean the house and make sure all of the kids’ toys weren’t strewn all about the house.Make the beds. Number 2 was way more important to my wife than number 1, especially, making the marital bed. For whatever reason, in her head, this was the most fucking important thing ever. No matter what, I could never get the quilt straight enough or the fourteen extra pillows in the correct spatial dimensions. The kids could have destroyed the house during the day — pizza on the walls, DVDs and toys all over — no problem. But that fucking bed, oh boy, lookout Eric. She’d march up the stairs to …
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The Old Woman and the Central Vacuum

Dirt — the bane of 1970s housewives and shag carpeting everywhere. As usual, The Old Man came to the rescue with his grasp of cutting-edge technology. Right-quick, a state-of-the-art central vacuum system was installed at the mansion — no doubt bought from Grainger. If you don’t know what a central vac system is, you have never truly lived.
A central vac system consists of a main power unit located in a basement or a storage closet, and inlet points located at various points in the house. A long hose with a floor unit is the main tool to clean with. The hose plugs into the inlet and activates the power unit. The fun ensues. The Old Woman loved her new vacuum. At first, the unit was incredibly powerful. The Old Woman could suck up debris of varying sizes. “Passing the cleaner,” as my mother called it, was a test of what could successfully go through the hose. From cereal to socks and toys, she wasn’t afraid to use that sucker for material most normal people would shy away from. Emptyin…

The Old Woman’s Answering Service

A long time ago, when The Old Man was the head of a flourishing residential electrical wiring/hvac business, his defacto secretary was The Old Woman. This was long before cellphones and answering machines. Now The Old Woman didn’t do the books or keep track of inventory and billing or anything like that. She mainly just answered the phone. She never answered the phone with my father’s business’ name. We only had one phone line. The Old Man was too cheap to have a second line put in. “Did The Old Woman have a desk with a nice call log book,” you ask? Fuck no! My mother’s mode of taking call information was to write the person’s name down on the envelopes her credit card bills came in. The Old Woman’s envelopes also included her monthly “math problems” on them. This was her way of keeping track of what she had to pay to each credit card and clothing/department store. So The Old Man’s clients’ info was inter-mixed with scrawled Ann Taylor minimum payment due figures. The Old Man was luc…

The Christmas Family Portrait

300 years ago, when I was happily married, ahem, the beginning of the holiday season was marked by the classic family portrait. Because you know, you have to put pictures in every fucking Christmas card! This event would be planned by the wife weeks in advance of Christmas. Xmas-themed outfits were picked out. Hopefully, it was something not too garish. And where should you go to get these festive shots taken? The mall of course. Well, back when malls were obnoxiously crowded. Getting the kids ready for the portrait studio was a fine balancing act between dressed too early?—?“Sam just spilled juice all over his shirt!” and: “Hurry up, the store’s closing!” At any rate, you make it through the maze of wandering zombie parents with screaming kids in tow. Ah, the JCPenney photo studio, decked out in a wonderland of fake snow and Xmas-themed plastic props. Other fathers in various shades of red and green clothes give you that knowing nod and the thousand-yard stare. A photographer who ha…

The Dumbest Ideas of The Old Man

I feel the need to revisit some of The Old Man's dumbest household project ideas.

The 1970s Orange Metal Fireplace

I have detailed this evolutionary dead-end in previous posts, but I've thought of some special bonus content for the eventual TV series.

In the death-throes of the '70s energy crisis, people tried to come up with creative ways to save some money on their heating bills. Living in the Northeast, The Old Man was obsessed with trying to heat the mansion in the brutal winter months. Some installed electric heat. Some put in wood-burning stoves. The Old Man wanted to do the latter one better. Somewhere, he found an old prop from the TV show Lost In Space and thought it would make a perfect fireplace. I can only assume he bartered for it by wiring someone's rumpus room.

By the looks of the orange fireplace pictured above, it was really meant to burn a decorative log as a backdrop in some '70s porno, and not to provide heat to a whole two-story house. The Old M…

The Great Chipmunk Fiasco

I’d like to tell you about an event that still has me a paranoid mess. Picture it: My shitty divorced guy apartment, yesterday. Now the night before, I heard some weird noises coming from what I thought was the upstairs neighbor’s apartment. No big deal. The next afternoon, I went into the spare bedroom the finish my bi-yearly junk mail/shit I still shouldn’t be storing in boxes after ten years, clear out.

The windows in my apartment go all the way down to the floor and have a wide sill. As I entered the room, I came to a dead stop?—?a tiny chipmunk was sitting there on the window sill. No doubt, wondering how the fuck he could get to his natural habitat that he could clearly see through the double-pane glass. He looked at me. He sprang from the sill and hid under the bed.

My mind raced. What do chipmunks eat? Bread? No, you dumb fuck. Nuts!

I went to the kitchen and brought out a jar of dry roasted peanuts. When I got back to the bedroom Alvin was back on the window sill. I threw some p…

Logan’s Run, a Short Analysis

Last weekend I watched the 1976 Sci-Fi classic movie Logan’s Run. It’s probably been twenty years or so since I’ve watched it. Basically, a few hundred years after a nuclear catastrophe, humans live in an underground chest hair-free, groovy disco city. To control the population, people are killed at 30 under the guise they’ll be “renewed.” There are some people who try to run away from the city to escape death. These runners hope to find a mythical area outside called Sanctuary. The police force, called Sandmen, are then sent capture the “runners.” What I really want to focus on is analyzing the social habits of the average person in Logan’s Run. As much as I can tell, people just walk around the city all day long. Note the following series of screenshots:

Where the fuck are these people going? Do they just walk around until they die at 30? They’re in a massive mall; where are their packages? Totally confusing. Maybe, because the city is run automatically by computers, they don’t need…