The diary of a cord-cutting, wannabe streamer

I’m setting two goals for myself: 1) Try to make $1 trillion by mining bitcoin on my standard-issue home computer, and 2) finally cut the cable cord. I want to do these two things because it seems like everyone is these days. And at my advancing age it is important to keep up with the trends and stay relevant. (Plus, learn some TikTok dances.)

But I’m also motivated by money. Because we all could use more of it, and right now, it seems like all of mine is going to the cable company. I looked at my cable bill recently and realized that I am paying what is equivalent to the national debt of Northern Macedonia. Each month! And I’m sure they at least have some kind hydro-electric damn to show for their money.

Me? I have 82,000 channels and only two that I use: Food Network and any channel with a show on that has “unexplained” in the title. (Someone really should start a whole network called “Unexplained” to capture the attention of people like me. It could be bigger than mining Bitcoin.)

Otherwise, I don’t use it. Actually, that isn’t true. I use it quite a bit as I scroll endlessly through the channel guide in a desperate search for something to watch. Anything with the word “unexplained” in the title. I’m like a thirsty man lost in a desert. Or worse, a zombie stumbling around moaning, “Must watch ‘Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.’”

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A different kind of dad this Father’s Day

There’s an odd book sitting on our side table. It’s not like the other books. The biography of Hamilton. The science fiction tomes. The light and breezy books on financial planning. So comical and perfect for a day at the beach.

This one has a whole different feel to it. Its own vibe or mood. Truthfully, it seems like it’s from some kind of parallel universe. Somewhere alien and un-relateable, as if written in an entirely different language. Kind of dark and foreboding.

It has a word in it that causes heart palpitations and intestinal backflips every time I read it: College.

Which is a little funny considering the fact that I work and teach at a college. Rather love the place. The idea behind it and all that it means. A place of learning. Of higher thinking. Of pushing your level of knowledge and critical thinking as you set a career path and figure out who you are. Oh, and beer pong! Plus, gluing your sheet to the ceiling of your dorm room for no better reason than: a) you have a sheet, b) there is a ceiling, and c) … beer pong!

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With a road trip coming, it’s travel gadget time

I think I might be addicted. Like having a serious problem. Gone-to-Vegas-and-decided-to-become-a-professional-Keno-player problem. Or decided to join a cult. Or stayed up for three days straight trying to beat a video game. (And I don’t even play videogames!)

But all of those would be easy. Instead, I’m hooked on travel gadgets and accessories, and I don’t know how to beat the habit.

It’s been spawned by a new car and an upcoming trip that will see us head off to North Carolina and Virginia, where we’ll zip along winding mountain roads in search of dallying mountain streams. And waterfalls!

It’s a road trip. A rambler. A spend-lots-of time-in-the-car vacation that I dream about. Highways open up in front of you, stretching out for miles in every direction. Just inviting you to come and drive until your butt goes numb and you can’t feel the gas-pedal anymore.

I’m not sure why that’s fun, but I love it.

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The king of absent-minded forgets … wait, what was it again?

I feel like I am forgetting something … Oh yeah, to write this column! Dangit!

Almost forgot.

I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Or if not a lot, at least more often. Forgetting things. Being absent-minded. Not remembering … wait … what was I doing? Dangit! This column … right.

Anyway, it seems to be more common these days. Happening more often.

Sometimes it’s little things. Like leaving the toaster on. Or forgetting to put the cap back on the milk.

There was a green plastic cap sitting on the counter. I saw this and did what comes naturally to most family men in the household: blamed everyone else.

“Hey y’all, anyone know where this cap goes?” I said. “Because clearly it goes to something. Because caps don’t exist in nature all by themselves. And clearly it was one of you because I am infallible, recognize the value of ‘cap management’ and never leave anything out rather than putting it back in its rightful place where it is ‘capping’ something. So, yeah, who did it?”

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A Florida camping expedition beset by dust and sink holes

Dusty tent? De-dusted. Vehicle? Three-inch crust of dirt chipped loose with industrial chisels and diamond-coated scrapers. Body? Soaped, scrubbed and exfoliated. But … still needs another 18 or 19 full washes, plus a professional-grade pressure washing. All to get the layers of grime, bug spray, sweat, dirt and other varieties of filth completely off.

And that was just from one night of camping.

What would it have been with two?!?

This was our big family camping excursion. The one my daughter has been asking to go on. The one my brother signed us up for, along with his wife, 7-year-old nephew and my dad. Dragged us all out to a Central Florida state park along a river with water the color of bad coffee. He picked it special because it’s also known for ensuring you get to see more dust than water.

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A Florida yard that gives back in spades

I’ve decided to grow blackberries. I’ve decided to grow blackberries because I went over to my mother’s house and she said, “Look at my blackberries. Aren’t they wonderful? Taste one. They’re delicious! I am God’s gift to gardening. Brag, brag, brag.”

And I hate to admit this. It absolutely pains me to admit this. Because I’ve never agreed with my mother about anything in my entire life. But they WERE delicious. And they did look wonderful. And I thought to myself: Even though I may never hear the end of it – “See? Aren’t you glad I’m such a great gardener and taught you everything you know!” — I should try to grow some myself.

Because they were that delicious.

I’ve always believed that your yard should produce things. It should have meaning and purpose. Where you can see – literally – the fruits of your labor.

It shouldn’t just be pretty. I don’t want a yard where I spend all my time toiling and sweating so I can point and say, “Look. I made … green!”

If I’m going to fight thorns and weeds and roots and insects and, worst of all, dirt, I want a yard that gives me something back: a fruit-filled, butterfly-flying, bee-embracing earthy wonderland. A giving garden.

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Pulling off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day

How to make a perfect Mother’s Day? It’s all in the preparation. And the technique. And knowing not to say things to your wife like, “Wait, why do I have to do everything? You’re daughter’s the one you gave birth to! Why isn’t she doing the dishes?” Well, maybe not perfect. But here’s a look at how we pulled off the almost-perfect Mother’s Day this year in case you’re taking notes for future years:

• Be careful what you buy. For instance, my daughter came up with a great idea she saw online: A facial jade roller and skin massager. It sounded wonderful. Relaxes and soothes your face. Rolls across the skin, nourishing and replenishing your cells. Reduces line and wrinkles. WAIT!!! What?!? “Oh heck no!” I told her. “We can’t buy your mother something that is supposed to reduce wrinkles. That’s signing our own death warrant.” My daughter pointed out that she doesn’t have any wrinkles, and that it’s just something relaxing. But I wasn’t about to ruin Mother’s Day with a, “Hey, just in case you get some bags under your eyes, here’s a jade roller!” We would both be sleeping with the chickens.

• When your 15-year-old daughter yells from across the house, “Mom? Mom! MOM!!!” smile and say, “Isn’t it just the sweetest sound? Really captures the spirit of the day, and the wonders of being a mother, doesn’t it? I bet you’re SOOOO thankful right now.”

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Summer planning and the family camping trip

It’s May. That means it’s officially time for summer trip planning. When you get vacation on the brain. When all you think about is bending the laws of physics so you can fit 32 tons of luggage into a vehicle cargo area that can barely hold three grocery bags.

We have all manner of things planned to keep a travel-planning nut like me busy. But first up this month is something I got talked into: a camping trip with family.

This combines two things I don’t like to do when I travel: camp OR go with family.

I know that sounds terrible. Because millions of people love to camp. But it just hasn’t been my thing in a long while. And family are great, but when I travel, I really just like to go with my wife and daughter. Maybe the dog.

Extended family are wildcards. They make a neurotic planner like me – who is into controlled situations, precise itineraries and low-drama – shutter at the unknowns and variables.

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Nagging questions when kitchen appliances go bad

Boy, when household appliances go bad, or you start looking for new ones, you get some pretty interesting questions in your head. I learned this when my long-serving oven decided it had no interest fulfilling its mission anymore, and I had to go hunting for a replacement. Perplexing questions. Many like …

What do you do when you come home hungry, fire up your trusty oven and find it now emits sounds like a woodchipper? I mean, how did it even do that?!? It’s an oven! It emits HEAT. There shouldn’t be anything in it remotely capable of loud, scary noises, not to mention what sounds like it’s mauling a tree.

What do you do when everything you read online says this might mean your appliance is possessed, should be drenched in Holy Water and then dropped off a cliff? Which is quite different than the most do-it-yourself posts and videos. Online DIY articles are pretty optimistic. Bordering on fictional. You could have a washing machine catch on fire and burn itself to its feet, and some DIY-er would offer a solution involving a new actuator and premium appliance spray paint. But my problem seemed more dire.

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A little back pain solved by listening to mom

I am the type of person who misinterprets things. This is especially true when it comes to health. This means that when I feel a small twinge of something in my back, I automatically assume the worst. One of three things usually: 1) Kidney failure, 2) untreatable cancer, or 3) proof that aliens abducted me, inserted some kind of tracking device and it’s now causing both kidney failure AND untreatable cancer.

The triple whammy!

They didn’t mean to do it, I should add. They thought they were tagging me like a bear for research. But it turns out that thanks to an online bargain, they got some cheap, knock-off trackers made with toxic materials. And this is the result.

Yes, my hypochondriac imagination does get a bit elaborate.

What I do NOT think is that maybe I just tweaked a muscle. Or that maybe something simpler, or more realistic, is at play.

This was the state of me recently. Back hurting. Frantic updates made to my will. Wondering which court had jurisdiction when my family goes to sue the extraterrestrials.

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