Trying to Trick the Blind Guy, My Dirt is Prettier than Your Dirt, and Butter Spray is Evil

Check out this spam comment I got on my blog:

“I think that everything published was actually very reasonable. But, think about this, suppose you wrote a catchier post title? I am not suggesting your information isn’t good., but what if you added something that makes people want more? I mean Girls Fart, Men Cry, and Where is my Sock? dustylizard is kinda boring. You should look at Yahoo’s home page and watch how they create news titles to grab people to click. You might add a video or a pic or two to grab readers excited about what you’ve written. Just my opinion, it might make your posts a little livelier.”

Gee, they’re right!  “Girls Fart, Men Cry, and Where is my Sock” is such a boring title!  I’d never read a post with a dull title like that.  I’d better pop right over to Yahoo’s home page and learn something about snazzy titles for my blog posts.  And I’ll get right on that bit about adding pictures to my blog.  I’m so glad they sent me this message.


While I do a pretty good job of maintaining the cleanliness level of the home, and will even sort through paper piles that would make a less stalwart woman pack up and move back home, when it comes to mindless and thankless out of the ordinary cleaning projects that will take longer than 3 or 4 minutes, I tend to wander off in search of a good book before all the cleaning supplies have even had a chance to be gathered.

Wow.  That was a long sentence.  I really should go back and edit it, but I’m too scared.  If I try to shorten it, it’ll turn on me and attack.  It’s like a sentence from Baltimore Sun newspaper.

Darling Husband and I used to have a volunteer job reading the newspaper over the radio for blind people. The guy who headed up the radio station was named Bob and he was blind.  He could do that thing where he could tell who you were by your footsteps.  You would walk in a room and he’d say, “Hi, Jackie,” before you said a word.

Darling Husband used to try to trick Bob into thinking he was someone else by hopping into the room, or dragging one foot behind him, or tip-toeing.  But, obviously, no one else would ever do something like that, so Bob always knew it was Darling Husband.  And Darling Husband would pretend to be shocked and say, “How did you know it was me?”

At the radio station, Darling Husband and I would read from the Baltimore Sun, whose articles had the longest sentences ever.  The Sun reporters challenged each other to see who could write the longest sentence each week.   They would each throw a dollar into an old Styrofoam coffee cup every morning and whoever wrote the longest sentence by Friday would get the cup of money.  No, I don’t have proof of it, but I did read their articles on live radio for a couple of years, so I know.

Anyway.  I’ve digressed yet again.  I meant to write about cleaning.

We’ve been using cooking spray every single day with giddy recklessness, while making pancakes for our picky children.  The tiny globules of oil have been gleefully flying around the kitchen in a rodeo free for all, and then massing on the stove and sticking there with bulldog tenacity.

I wanted to get a picture that would give you a small insight into the overwhelming nature of the task, so you would understand how horrifying the job was going to be.  But the stove looks so disgusting in the pictures that I don’t want to terrify any small child that might be walking past the computer while you read this, so I’m not going to post the more revolting pictures after all.

However, the below picture of the globbed on fuzz turned out delicate and beautiful.  There’s a thick layer of lint that got stuck in the oil globules and made the stove hood fuzzy.  To see the fuzz in all its glory, I needed to take the picture from the side, but it was too dark in the kitchen to do it properly.

Then I remembered how we learned at Photo Club that if you don’t have enough light in a room, you can add light with a flashlight.

Look at the stove from the side, zoomed in nice and close, lit with a flashlight I’m holding in one hand, and focused on one little band across the picture.  The lint looks like a delicate snowflake.  It’s like a work of art.  Such a shame to clean off such beauty.

But I did.  And I have now banned cooking spray from the house.  We’ll use old fashioned butter from now on.


One more picture of the day.  Look at my calendar.  I circled the one day in the entire month that didn’t have anything scheduled on it.  Today.

Gerhard and Bridgette and Mom:  I couldn’t bear to answer the phone today, on the one day without something on the calendar.  Last time I had a somewhat free day, I made the mistake of answering the phone.  Never again!  I’ll call you guys back tomorrow.


7 thoughts on “Trying to Trick the Blind Guy, My Dirt is Prettier than Your Dirt, and Butter Spray is Evil

  1. Some years back, I heard that Larry Hagman did a practice of silence every Tuesday. The practice of no phone makes sense.

    I like your titles. They can’t all have “Men in knickers ” in them.

  2. Personally, I enjoy your blog titles quite alot. They immediately convey an overview of what one can look forward to while reading, and also provide reassurance that I’m not the only person in the world who deals with such a constant onslaught of random thoughts….

  3. It’s funny you mention that about the Baltimore Sun – it just furthers a theory my bf has about newspapers with the name “The Sun”. When I lived in Brandon they “The Brandon Sun” and it was always riddled with spelling errors, grammatical mistakes and in general just lacked journalistic integrity, it was disgusting – for fun people would give me a red pen and get me to find all of the mistakes in it (also it was sort of boring to live in Brandon so those are the sorts of things we would do for “fun”). Recently I read an article in the “Toronto Sun” where they took a funny story from a tv show and reported on it as if it had been a serious event, I couldn’t believe it! I told my bf about it and he said well, as a rule Sun newspapers are usually the worst newspapers in any given city 😉 as for your blog titles – they are idiosyncratic, they make your blog yours!

    • That’s a clever theory, about newspapers called The Sun.

      And Brandon sounds like a sloooow town. Maybe the newspaper was bad on purpose, just to give aspiring editors something to do on a Saturday night.

      • Yeah it was a weird place, it had 3x the population of the city I grew up in yet acted like a place that had 3x less the population of the city of grew up – it was so weird.

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