My Life As A Hobby

  I’m in my bathroom, standing in a nasty puddle of water, with a plunger in one hand and a bent coat hanger in the other. It’s hard to believe that just twelve hours earlier, I was eating breakfast on a cruise ship, while a man in a white jacket asked me if I wanted more smoked salmon with my omelette. Now, I’m at home trying to unclog a toilet - talk about a fall to earth.  After about an hour, all I had managed to do was slop disgusting water everywhere. So it was time to move out of the  coat hanger era of plumbing and into the 21st century.    I went to my laptop and booted up Chatty Cathy - my name for ChatGPT. Despite having no real world plumbing experience, which still puts her slightly ahead of me, she suggested that I bail out the toilet, then pour in a cup of dishwashing liquid and a half gallon of hot water.  Ol’ Chatty was right - it unclogged, until the next morning, when it backed up again. That’s when I gave up and called a plumber - after...

I’ve never been shushed at a concert in my life - until a few days ago. That’s when a lady in front of us turned around and said we were talking too loud and she couldn’t hear the blaring music. At an outdoor concert, no less. All I did, besides sing along with the band like everyone one else, was ask the guy next to me if he wanted my extra bottle of water. The couple to the left of us just shook their heads.   My wife said, “What’s wrong with her?”   “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s PMS - she’s way past the “M.”   “Well,somebody must have kicked her cat.”   But really, it was the law of averages. I suppose when there are a boatload full of old people, a few crabby ones are inevitable. And when I say boatload, I’m not kidding - because we were on a ship, aptly named the Flower Power Cruise.   If I had to describe it, I’d call it “Woodstock on the Water.” Only with better plumbing, significantly more food, and legal prescription medi...

  Two Dogs, One Bed, No Dignity I woke up at three AM, which is not unusual. At my age, the bladder rules. It was time to take a bathroom break, return to bed, and then think of something boring until I conk out again. That’s normal. What is not normal, however, is what I saw when I turned over and opened my eyes. Once they focused, there it was, no more than six inches away. I was staring at the business end of my dog, Roscoe. He was lying between me and my wife - and believe me, she had a much better view than I did. I felt like a puppy proctologist. Properly startled and disgusted, I quickly got up and made my pit stop. Upon returning to the bed, I discovered that Roscoe had moved, claiming my cherished sleeping territory. I suppose he thought that possession is nine-tenths of the law. However, since he doesn’t pay the mortgage, I whispered in my library voice, “Roscoe, move over.” He lifted his head, looked at me like I had just suggested rearranging the furniture during a...