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We’ll get to the Madrid Open in a minute, but first let’s take a look at something I had to correct prior to finishing the cottage. Crankenstein will probably squint and ask “What’s the difference?”, which I suspect is also what would happen if I switched places with any short brunette — or maybe even […]

I’m trying to get into the habit of writing something here (almost) every night just so I don’t disconnect any more than I already have in recent months. Tonight I’m tired and don’t have much time to throw anything together, but maybe this weekend Crankenstein and I will do our own version of an Oprah’s

All I have for you this evening is a photo of what I surprised Crankenstein with yesterday, which she again marveled at tonight. It’s reading material for her log cabin, which I’ll probably start building next month. Included are the Lord of the Rings trilogy and a nod to her other, non-Tolkien religion: the Book

At the academic clinic where my movement disorder specialist works, each exam begins in the waiting room. The doctors collect you themselves so they can observe your movement, a pragmatic ritual that has an unintentionally humanizing effect on harried physicians who might normally appear inaccessible in their sterile white coats. One of the reasons I

This promises to be a busy week: Muriel has an annual checkup tomorrow, I’m getting a neck full of toxins on Wednesday, my next review will (eventually) be posted, and the hobby site is functional and awaiting its first post. The link will be shared here once it’s ready for primetime, but keep your expectations

There are many reasons why I’ve temporarily withdrawn into quiet, largely offline pursuits recently. Besides the toll of sleep deprivation and daily uncertainty about how useful my arm will be, I often find myself unhappy with the general state of the world and the Internet’s contributions to it. Getting away from that and immersing myself

It’s tougher to angle baseboards and crown moulding properly than it looks, as I learned by watching my father nearly suffer a nervous breakdown during one memorable weekend project in the early ’90s. One of the things he told me then, and reiterated decades later when he helped replace the baseboards in my first house,

Today’s been a blur and there was no time to work on the cottage. Instead I was on a strange mission that Muriel watched with interest and mild concern: in almost six years of being joined at the hip, she’d never before seen me tape trash bags to the bathroom ceiling at the behest of

Today I learned the hard way not to blindly trust instruction manuals. The cottage’s said to fit doors and windows near the end of construction, making minor adjustments as necessary. It took around 90 minutes to install two windows and one door, and as Crankenstein sat on the ottoman in my office and watched me

I can’t sing or dance and I’m nothing much to look at, but damned if I’m not great at submitting myself to endless torture trying to fix something that isn’t working. It’s a skill, or maybe a value, that I picked up from my parents. My dad will make 12 profanity-laced trips to Lowe’s in