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Student Loans

When I went back to college in my early twenties, I borrowed the money via student loans. I can’t remember the amount that I borrowed, but I do remember that I borrowed the absolute maximum I could. Like an idiot. Thankfully, it only took me a year and a half to graduate, so it wasn’t a huge amount of debt. It took me a while, but I paid it back. It wasn’t easy, because the interest rates are pretty high.

Years later, I did grad school, which took me a lot longer—four years. But I was smarter than before, and only borrowed what I had to. When I graduated, I owed a little north of $10,000. In spite of the fact that I had really good credit, the interest rate was really high, and even though I paid faithfully, I felt like I was swimming upstream.

Then one day a friend told me that the government had a program that could pay off my loan, if I met the qualifications. Actually, qualification, singular. Teach five years in a Title I school, and I could apply for partial or full loan forgiveness. As soon as I reached the five year mark, I applied. They said no. The reason was stupid: I failed to put the title of the district representative who signed the form. The form did not specify that I put that information down. Under the signature line, it put the title of the person: “superintendent of personnel,” or something. The man who signed off on my app had that title, so it seemed redundant to put that down again. But I re-applied, and was eventually approved for full loan forgiveness, which amounted to just under ten thousand dollars.

I was so grateful. And I didn’t feel like it was charity, because I had committed to stay at a Title I school, where a lot of people lit out for wealthier districts and private schools. So I get a little sick of all the whiners who are complaining about the government forgiving student loans. And I think I can say that, since I paid off one loan, and was the recipient of grace on another.

It isn’t clear to me why people are complaining. I guess they abhor welfare, or handouts. Or maybe they’re mad because they paid off their loans, and now others are getting theirs forgiven. Perhaps people are jealous because they didn’t go to college in the first place.

A couple things: first, the student loan program is jacked up. There needs to be a better way to make sure the loans are fair and equitable. Dave Ramsey pointed out that the same people who have been loaning money are still going to be loaning money. That makes no sense—if we are having to pay off loans because the system is messed up, shouldn’t we fix the problem? Second, how many of you whiners were the recipient of a free education? Most of you, I suspect. If you went to a public school, and you attended a vocational-technical school where you learned a trade, how can you complain? If you attended tech while in high school, it was free. How is that any different?

As the recipient of massive amounts of grace, I cannot complain that people are getting loans forgiven. I’ve been forgiven much, so therefore I should love much.

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People, People, I Implore You!

On Saturday, my buddy Paul and I signed up for a charity ride. It is called “Blazing Saddles,” and benefitted a non-profit that specializes in suicide awareness. We did the forty mile route, and we were about fifteen in when we ran across the driver in the video you see here. Beautiful truck–probably cost more than sixty thousand dollars, yet he is so miserable that he felt compelled to flip off every single rider. Bear in mind that his animosity wasn’t because he was delayed by slow moving vehicles–he was going in the opposite direction. He was not slowed down, impeded, or in any way inconvenienced by the riders. He was just a bitter and nasty person. I almost feel sorry for him.

Andy Griffith once said, “when that man’s time comes to go, he ain’t gonna go like the rest of us. No, he’s just gonna NASTY away.” This man who flipped us off, whose blessed life ought to have caused him to be thankful, feels compelled to spend his life bringing everyone else down. Even people who gave their own money to a charity designed to help suicidal people. I hope he sees this and is able to see himself the way the rest of us see him. Or maybe his kids or his wife, if there is a woman who can stand to be in his presence for longer than twenty seconds. Somehow I think he’s an ass to everyone.

If you know him, let him know that he is kind of famous now. Tell him that he needs a little Jesus.

Okay then.

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Don’t Tell Mom

Spencer and I used to say that to each other all the time. Any time we were doing something we knew she would not approve of, but we couldn’t wait to tell someone about, we said, “don’t tell mom.” Spent more money than we should have? Fine. DON’T TELL MOM. Bought something she thinks is unsafe or unwise? Not a big deal. DON’T TELL MOM.

Last year I sold my pickup, and we’ve been a one car family ever since. No big deal, we were a one car family for twelve years. We made it work. Recently, however, I decided to get a car, and have been researching it. I’ll spare you the details, but I decided to go electric again, and my first choice was a newer Nissan Leaf. Lisa, always the great life partner, suggested I bite the bullet and just get the Tesla (I LOVE that girl!). But the price is too high. I came across some research on the Chevy Bolt. Most of the major car publications picked the Bolt over the Leaf, stating that it is a better car all around. Ultimately, a salesman in town told me he had a 2021 model in stock, and he needed it gone. He knocked nearly $12,000 off MSRP (new cars are selling at or above MSRP, in case you didn’t know), and even though it is white, I got it. He had three or four calls from all over the country, while I was sitting there with him, all wanting that car. Sorry, Mrs. Cho of Irvine, California. You lose.

Now I need to put a bike rack on it. I didn’t want to use the hitch mounted rack, and didn’t feel the need to. My bike isn’t so heavy that I can’t put it on the roof like I did in the past. I’ve always been a Yakima guy. Yak Racks are made in Yakima, Washington, or at least the home office is there, I can’t say where the actual bike racks are manufactured. Thule racks are a popular brand globally, but I’ve always liked the American company best. This time, though, I made a bold call, and went with the Thule (it is pronounced “too-lee,” in case you were curious).

Two reasons. First, my bike doesn’t use a quick release front hub/axle–the front wheel stays in place, which takes a special kind of rack, which Thule has always done well. The second reason is that Thule and GM are in bed together, so to speak. The GM warranty on my Bolt covers the bike rack. Also, the service techs at the dealership are trained, and thus qualified to install them, so I don’t have to bother Spencer to install it, although I know he would in a heartbeat.

That’s why you can’t tell mom. Yakima is made in Washington state, but Thule is made in Sweden. SWEDEN. Mom hated Sweden! Her dad always said they were in bed with the Nazis, so he detested Swedes, and raised his daughter to be the same. DON’T TELL MOM.

The Chevy Bolt might not be as sexy as my big black Chevy diesel, but I don’t care. Since it is all electric, I drive right past the gas station. It is really roomy, has a range of over 250 miles, more if you drive with a little care. Add in the bike rack, and I’m in tall cotton over here. Woody likes it too, mostly because he knows that come fall, he will be back to a regular rotation at work. You’ve gotta love that.

What do you think? I snagged the last of the ’21s, but if you want a ’22, call Josh at Mark Allen Chevy and he will hook you up.

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Another Motorist Ignoring the Law

Cyclists catch a lot of grief when it comes to traffic laws. I hear it all the time–people in motor cars honking at me (which is now against the law in Oklahoma), yelling at me (also against the law), and telling me to obey the law, when they do not obey the law.

I always blow it off. It is easy to blow stuff off on a bicycle, because bike riding is so effective at burning off the crazy. When something memorable happens, it is completely forgotten about by the time I get home. Lately, though, it has been harder to forget interactions with motorist, for now I am rocking this sweet GoPro camera. I am unable to forget what happens. What have I learned since I started utilizing a GoPro? I’ve learned that almost no one obeys traffic laws ever. Just yesterday a woman in a giant SUV passed me in a no passing zone, violating the speed limit, without proper clearance (another car was coming in her direction), and she was within 100 feet of an intersection. I was just riding along, at the posted speed limit, minding my own business.

This video is of an incident that happened a couple days later. Check it:

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REACHER

Ten years ago, I’d never heard of Jack Reacher. The first time I read that name was on Facebook in 2012. A friend had posted about the new Tom Cruise movie being released, and other people talked about it like they knew something I did not. That’s not surprising—there is a lot I don’t know, especially when it comes to popular culture. There were several conclusions I drew from the reactions to the post, but the first one was that Tom Cruise was the absolute wrong guy to be cast as Jack Reacher. Too short. Too old. Too little. Of course, I found out later that Cruise was one of eleven producers of the film, and cast himself as Jack Reacher—I’d have done the same thing. When you know that no one else in the world will do as good a job as you, you take the job and you work around the obvious.

A few questions of my friends filled me in on the book series. Lee Child is the author. It is a pseudonym. His real name is James Grant, born and raised in England, and he spent twenty years or so writing and directing television commercials and other shows on a British television network. In his spare time, he wrote stories, mostly about a man who retired from the United States army and who went around helping people out of a jam. It was a hobby for him, and for a long time he may have dreamed of becoming a writer of popular novels, but never thought it would be a reality. In the mid-90’s, as television began to change, Grant saw the handwriting on the wall, and began making his plans to earn a living in some other way. His friends and co-workers had told him for years that his writing was as good as any author they’d read, and now he would test the waters and find out. Turns out, they were right.

Jack Reacher is not much different than any other reluctant hero. Jack Bauer, Jack Ryan, hey, why are all the badass heroes named Jack?? Anyway, he’s a rugged individualist, content to walk around the country and help people out. He is huge—6’5” tall and 285 pounds. I read the first book, and it quickly became apparent why Tom Cruise was the wrong person for the role, at least physically. I’m not sure how many of the twenty-five books published about Jack Reacher. Call it ”several.” I stopped because all the stories were the same.

I saw the movie, released in 2012, and had to force myself to ignore Tom Cruise’s small stature. It didn’t take long. He is good. Great, in fact. One of the best actors ever. And he did a great job playing Jack Reacher. So what if he’s tiny? Some of the lines were delivered perfectly by Cruise. When a bad guy is complaining that his finger hurts because Reacher has control of the gun he’d been holding, Reacher calmly says, ”well, then you shouldn’t play with guns.” Every sarcastic line Reacher says is delivered perfectly by Cruise. Reacher makes lists all the time. ”There are four reasons why men join the army.” Or, ”there are three things cops never do. They don’t vote Democrat, they don’t drive Cadillacs, and they never use personal vehicles.” Tom Cruise delivers these lines perfectly, and other than his size, made the perfect Jack Reacher.

Imagine my excitement when I discovered that a new Reacher television series was being released. Tom Cruise is out, replaced by Alan Ritchson, a 38 year old actor who is the son of a high school teacher and an Air Force master sergeant. He has been in several films and TV shows, none of which I have seen. He isn’t 6’5”, but he’s close—6’2”, and although I’m no movie director, it’s got to be easier to make six-two look like six-five than it is to make five-seven look like six-five. In fact, neither of the Reacher movies starring Cruise focused on Reacher’s size. They didn’t even bother. If you’re a purist, this bothers you (and if you’re a Reacher fan, you saw what I just did). In the books, his size is always part of the story. People notice him. In the films, women notice him because he’s handsome, not because he’s huge. The series, which was released February 4, has eight episodes, each roughly an hour long. Lisa and I binge-watched it over two days.

So which is better, the films or the TV series?

As far as acting is concerned, the films win. Tom Cruise is just plain better as an actor than Alan Ritchson. Ritchson isn’t a bad actor. He delivers Reacher dialogue like I expected him to, but lacks the rhythm that Cruise has, as well as the facial expressions. Ritchson did a good job, in fact, he read every single one of Lee Child’s Reacher books before filming began. He studied the character and knew it as well as anyone. But there’s only so much you can do.

When considering the storyline, the series wins. The first film did not claim to be based on any particular one of the books. It was just an amalgam of all the stories. Seriously, how many ways is there to tell the same story twenty-five times? The series starts right off the bat telling viewers that it is based on the first in the Reacher series, ”Killing Floor.” Unlike many Hollywood productions, this one was very true to the book.

The cast of the film was probably better, and not just because of Cruise. Richard Jenkins, Werner Herzog, and Rosamund Pike are all Oscar-nominated actors, and of course, Robert Duvall is an Oscar winner. The series had exactly zero actors that I’d ever heard of. That doesn’t matter, they were all good and delivered their roles in a convincing manner.

So which is better? I’ll give the series the win—true to the story line. True to the characters. Better able to hash out the stories and the characters over eight hours than one can do in ninety minutes.

Watch it on Amazon Prime. Or better yet, read the books.

Helmet Hair: a Coiffure Odyssey

Anyone who has ever participated in an athletic activity understands the trials associated with keeping one’s coiffure in order. That’s not completely true, I guess. Golfers don’t have to wear a hat. But pretty much everyone else does. We just called it “hat hair” when wearing a ball cap.

Cycling is unique among activities that can make for a bad hair day, mainly because of the style of the typical bike helmet. Those wind vents can wreak havoc on your hair, especially if you’re rocking a buzz cut, as I did for many years. Combine that with a long sweaty bike ride, and you might as well forget about having a good hair day.

Now if you’re just out on a Saturday ride with the crew, and you stop and down a Shiner Bock or two after, then head home for a shower, you won’t have a problem. But what about those of us who ride our bike to work? No imbibing. No shower. Just helmet hair.

Today’s ride was the perfect storm, for me anyway. First, it is a hair washing day. Second, the freezing temperatures would require the wearing of a balaclava. Third, I took a longer route, so I was on the bike for forty-five minutes. Wet head. Balaclava. Helmet. Long ride. It’s gonna be ugly.

But who cares? When you ride your bike to work, you can wear your hair any way you want, because you own the day. Workout? Done. Avoiding traffic jams? Always. That big breakfast you ate? A distant caloric memory. If my hair isn’t perfect, those are the breaks. I’m changing the world over here.

The photo you see is a brief timeline on managing helmet hair, for your consideration. Picture 1 is right after removing my helmet and balaclava. Picture 2 is after I brushed it out, and 3 is once I worked it all out and am ready for the day. I hope this encourages you to ride your bike to work and not worry about the status of your coiffure.

Are You Excited to See Me?

I was walking Woody and Ruth this morning, and saw a neighbor who was walking his dog.

From about a block away, maybe two, the man’s dog spotted us. He was excited. He started jumping up and down, and spinning in circles. He was pulling on the lead, but his owner would not give in. He just stood there while his big giant brown poodle had a hootenanny.

As we got to within earshot of the pair, I said to my neighbor, “I’m a little disappointed. He can hardly contain his excitement, and you’re just standing there.”

He never hesitated. “Well, my dog is a year and a half old. He’s still a puppy. I am seventy-three. I’m just as excited as he is but it’s all on the inside.”

Good answer, sir. 😂

I always talk to my dogs as we walk. Its our chance to connect.

I’m the Student

Looks like I’m going to owe some money to the school district for which I work. Yeah.

When you’re going to school, you pay. Learning costs money. When you become a teacher, you get paid to facilitate learning for others. Learning costs. Teaching pays.

I am a teacher, and I get paid for my services. But the fact is that I learn way more than I teach. That means I’m a student. I’m going to owe someone some money.

Today I was sitting with some students—one of them had asked me a clarifying question about the assignment, so I sat down at their table. One student told me about her great-grandmother, who was a little girl during the Great Depression. Today she is in her nineties, lives alone and her birthday is on Christmas Day. When the great-grandmother was a little girl, her mom asked her what she wanted for her birthday. She didn’t hesitate—her biggest wish was a Mickey Mouse watch. Her mom was broken hearted as she told her that they just couldn’t afford it. Then before her birthday arrived, her mom died, but not before she had taken what little money she had, and purchased presents for her family. When my student’s great-grandmother opened her present, it was a Mickey Mouse watch. Now, every year on her birthday, her family gets her a brand new Mickey Mouse watch. Wow.

I’d better get my checkbook out.

Let’s Ride!

I’m not sure how many times I’ve ridden in the annual bicycle ride benefitting MS research. More than ten. I think. Maybe. I just know that I rode MS150 for the first time in 2001. Maybe. Could have been ‘02 or ‘03. I don’t remember. But there are things I do remember.

I remember not knowing or caring what MS was. I had no idea, I just wanted to ride my bike and a friend invited me to join him so I did. I met Matt Dobson that year. He was the only person I’d ever met who had MS. My daughters knew and loved him, since he had been their teacher. I also remember that the wind was hard in our face all day on Saturday. Tulsa to Camp Gruber, about seventy-five miles into a stiff headwind. The next morning we got up to ride home, and much to our disappointment, the wind had shifted and would be in our face the entire ride home. Must not be living right.

Another thing I remember from that year is a sign someone was holding that Sunday back in ‘01. Or ‘02 or whatever. It was at the top of a steep climb, a scorching hot wind in my face, my legs like rubber, my whole body hurt. And a kid was holding up a sign that said, “Now you know how people with MS feel.” I had no idea how true that sign was.

BikeMS Oklahoma is this weekend, and I’ll be riding in it once again. And to my great surprise and delight, the wind shift predicted by the weatherman at the Weather Channel will work to our favor. Tailwind riding to Bartlesville on Saturday. An overnight wind shift, and a tailwind riding back to Tulsa on Sunday. Could it be? I sure hope so.

Have you contributed to the MS Society yet? If not, would you consider sponsoring me for this weekend? I would so appreciate it!

Donate to Jason’s ride

Once Upon a Time, I Made a Promise to a Girl…

That title sounds curious, doesn’t it? Sometimes all you need to get clicks to your site is a clever title. In this case, however, the title is true.

It is no secret that I love bicycles. Such a simple machine, but can be life changing. It can be world changing! Burns calories. Saves money. Saves fuel. It (mostly) keeps nasty smelling fumes from entering the atmosphere. A bicycle will likely never save you time, but it can (and will) shift your perspective, causing you to not be so worried about time. You can slow down, take your time, and enjoy the journey. I love bikes.

We struggle to remember the details now. When did I make this promise? Lisa says it was when we lived in the Tulsa House (this is how we organize the chapters of our life together—“when we were in the apartment,” or ”in the first Sand Springs house”), but I thought it was before that. It doesn’t matter, really.

The point is not when the promise was made. The point is that I didn’t keep it. The promise was, ”I’ll get you a hot tub before I get another bicycle.” As I remember things, I’ve purchased three or four bicycles since making that promise. Lisa says it is more like five or six. FIVE OR SIX? Surely not. Okay, maybe. But the last few don’t count. When I worked at the bike shop, it didn’t count because I was able to purchase bikes at cost. They were practically free! (Not really, but that was my argument). When I was diagnosed with MS, I bought a recumbent trike. That one doesn’t count because I sold all my other bikes to purchase the trike—a zero sum proposition. When I bought the Trek Supercommuter, I sold the recumbent to pay for it (mostly). I feel like I got my money’s worth out of both those bikes—I rode the trike 3,500 miles in the three years or so that I owned it, and on the Supercommuter I rode close to 7,500 miles. I was pretty proud of myself, because I exercised great discipline and restraint after seeing the Specialized Turbo Creo Comp Carbon electric assist bike. It was the latest in the evolution of the electric assist bicycle—carbon fiber, light as a feather, fast. Plus, most people have no idea that it was an e-bike. All I cared about was that it was yellow. I love yellow, especially yellow bicycles. As bad as I wanted it, I didn’t buy it, because of that promise. That, and the fact that it cost over $10,000. I stayed strong and continued to ride the big red Pee Wee Herman Supercommuter. But then one day last year, circumstance met destiny when a lady ran a stop sign and collided with me. I did a 360 in the air and landed on the pavement—it must have been legendary—and my bike was damaged. I had no choice but to get a new one. This also turned out to be a zero-sum deal—between the settlement the insurance company paid, and selling the Trek, we ended up money ahead. I don’t count Big Yella (my newest bicycle) against that promise I made to a girl, but she does.

The Catrike 559 recumbent trike–fun to ride but don’t let your friends see
The Trek Supercommuter+8 was a game changer
My newest bike, the Specialized Creo SL

I can’t say with certainty when that promise was made, but I can tell you precisely when it was fulfilled. Last year at the Tulsa State Fair, we were purposefully looking at pools, hot tubs, and the many alternatives. We quickly ruled out an in-ground pool. All that limestone just beneath the surface in our backyard makes that an expensive project. I’ve never much cared for above ground pools. That left us with one option: hot tub, so we started looking. For years, Tuff Spas have been at the top of my list. Those commercials showing somebody dropping hot tubs from an elevated position really convinced me, although I’ve never felt the compulsion to lift a hot tub by crane into the air, then drop it. But the point was well taken. Old school hot tubs use wood that mildews, rots, and looks crappy after a fairly short period of time. Tuff Spas are made with molded plastic, and pretty much look the same no matter what. And if it happens that my hot tub gets dropped from a crane, I’ll be in good shape. That day at the fair, we were blindly going from booth to booth, unaware of what brands each company sold. One hot tub salesman was trying hard to dissuade me from Tuff Spas. He was trying TOO hard to talk me out of it. I left his booth, vowing to think about the things he said. The next spa booth we came to happened to be the Tuff Spas booth, where we met Kyle. Kyle is from Arizona. Kyle made no defense when I told him what his competition was saying. ”Well he’s right. Sometimes the pump goes out. If it does, this is how to change it. Easiest thing in the world” He said only good things about his competition, but skillfully articulated the reasons he believed his spas were superior. I needed little convincing—those commercials were still in my mind. So, after a little negotiating, we put down a deposit. That was October. He said that it would be April before we saw it. He was right.

As April approached, we started getting prepared. Lisa’s brother, an electrician, was at the house one evening, and he encouraged us to consider using higher voltage, so he ran a 220v circuit to the backyard. Then we had a concrete slab poured, and a couple of weeks later, the hot tub was delivered, set in place, and started changing the atmosphere. Life will never again be the same! Here are some pictures of the project.

The before and after photos of the patio job (2019)
Happy wife, happy life.

Do You Know Who You Look Like?

I’ve rocked a buzz cut for more than thirty years. I’m not exaggerating. In the 70s and 80s it was all “part down the middle” and feathered, like a pop star. But by the 90s, with thinning hair and an ample girth, I decided to go short. I liked it.

1985, rocking a solid mullet, before mullets were cool

Lisa liked it too. In fact, she once compared me to Kiefer Sutherland. The “24” Kiefer Sutherland. Yeah. I can handle that.

Copy that. Now get me a hacksaw.

Then I lost a bunch of weight. Like, almost ninety pounds. I’ve never lost that much before, so I never walked around with a thin build and a buzz cut at the same time. Lisa did not like it.

Dachau or Auschwitz?

No longer did she think I looked like Jack Bauer. “You look like you just got liberated from a concentration camp.” Something like that. Don’t get me wrong, I love the historical reference! But seriously, a concentration camp?

So I decided to grow it out. I’d tried it a few years ago, but didn’t get too far. I was not used to the way long hair hangs in your face. I got tired to trying, and cut it off. As it turns out, it takes a lot of work to have long hair. I’d forgotten about that. Back in the day, I would exit the shower, and quickly put mousse in my hair, then blow dry it to the style I was going for. That’s a lot of work, especially compared with the aforementioned buzz cut, which is far less complex: Wash it. Throw some hair jelly in there. Walk away. No combing, no brushing, no blow dryer, nothing. And if I was feeling particularly lazy, I’d skip the hair jelly. Seriously, its a buzz cut. Who cares?

When I wore a younger man’s hairstyle

When that little dance commenced, Lisa compared me to Donald Sutherland. Ummm…you mean, Kiefer’s daddy? Yes, that one. Not the Donald Sutherland from the “Animal House” days, or from the movie version of MASH. No, the modern version–Governor Snow, or something like that. From “Hunger Games.” Hmmmm.

Maybe she’s right

A goal of having longer hair takes patience. My sis-in-law, who is a world-class hair stylist, tells me that hair grows at a pace of about half an inch a month. This will take a while. She was right. The journey to longer hair has taken me through a litany of styling products, as one will become helpful and useful for a little while, then phases out as my hair got longer. My favorite gel has been Scruples by Enforce. You can’t buy that at WalMart. Its the good stuff. But not for longer hair. I graduated to a fiber thing, then to “Gorilla Snot,” and finally, to nothing at all. Occasionally I’ll use a little hair spray, but for the most part, I wash it every two or three days, and just let nature do the rest. That is my ultimate goal.

Once it was long enough I began going to a men’s salon to clean it up. “Tell them ‘LONG LAYERS,'” Lisa said. I didn’t know what that meant, but he did, and he took a little off the back so as to allow the front to catch up and not look like a mullet. But that back grows fast. And I had completely forgotten about my hair’s odd propensity to flare out at the shoulders. I only had long hair for a short while, after all. Dad wouldn’t let us grow our hair long, so he shipped us off to Harold the barber. Harold was a kind old guy at our church who cut hair at a barber shop in town during the day, but set up a shop in his out building for cutting at night. He charged us four dollars. And he sucked. My hair was usually more like a bowl cut, or a Central European kid (I got called Dutch Boy way too much back then). When I went to college, I let my hair grow out for a time, but after a while, started my thirty year adventure with short hair.

So let’s revisit our journey for a sec. Lisa said I looked like Kiefer Sutherland, then a concentration camp survivor, then Donald Sutherland. That’s it, right? WRONG. Yesterday, she introduced a new comparison.

“What was that lady’s name? The mom from Brady Bunch? Carol, you say? Are you sure? Yeah, that sounds right. Carol Brady. THAT is who you look like now–Carol Brady, with the way her hair flared out at the shoulder? You look like Carol Brady.”

Fine. I look like the matriarch of the Brady Clan. I guess it could be worse. I could look like Alice. Or Bobby.

Pay attention, young men! Always marry the girl who will tell it like it is. Honest to a fault. Gives it to you straight, even if it hurts. Because you know, Carol Brady and all.

Do You Have One of These?

You ain’t no kind of man if you ain’t got a jar or similar container filled with a variety of nuts, bolts, wood screws, metal screws, screw screws, wire, clamps, washers, wall anchors…I could go on. My biggest problem is I need a clear container because I’ve amassed so many items that any time I want to look for something, I have to dump the whole thing out just to see what I have.

I’m fairly certain that I’ve dumped it out at least fifty times, but have yet to use anything I’ve ever found in there.

Do you have a container for all your excess things? What does it look like. Post a pic. I did. 🤷🏼‍♂️