Ad Hudler's Blog, page 9

Signs of Intelligent Life #28834W2

Found this clever pothole cover in east Tennessee. The grate had sunk into the asphalt.
I sure hope they decorate it for Christmas. Maybe a Santa hat on top of the cone?

Mysteries of the Universe: #8444RB5

Why is it that so many people order ginger ale on airplanes? (You never hear them ordering it in restaurants or bars.) Is it a comfort drink that we remember momma serving us when we were sick as kids? Are we seeking something that makes us feel safe ... because we're up there in the air, vulnerable from defying countless laws of physics?

It's not easy being green

I do whatever I can to help ease the strain on the resources of our planet. I've replaced my superior, incandescent light bulbs with those pitiful, anemic compact fluorescents. I've reduced the number of times I flush the toilet during the day: "If it's yellow let it mellow, if it's brown flush it down."

I also buy eco-friendly cleaning products when I can -- but I won't be keeping this last one I bought:


Yep, instead of my usual green dish-washing scratchies I bought this one made of .... well, I'm not sure what it's made of. I think it's recycled plastic bottles and, best as I can tell, yak hair ... which sheds as you're doing the dishes.

(yuck)

Those frozen french fries? They're right beside the blue jeans.

I just read in today's New York Times that the Levi Strauss company is trying to lessen their environmental imprint -- and they want the buyers of their jeans to do the same thing.

They ask us -- and I'm not kidding about this -- not to wash our jeans more than we need to.

I'm already there. Honestly, I wear a pair of jeans for up to 10 days sometimes without a wash. Denim is amazing; it seems to shed odors overnight ... even smoke from a bar.

The most fun fact from the article was this handy household hint on how to keep your jeans odor-free for longer: Put them in the freezer overnight.

Evidently, the cold temperature kills the germs that cause odors ... although, the article warns us, this is more successful if the person has faithfully been wearing underwear beneath his jeans.

I'm gonna try this one, folks.

Those secrets under the kitchen sink ...

I recently had to get new home insurance, and when the inspector from the insurance company came to look at the house (this is at our Florida home) he scrutinized the obvious things: age and strength of the windows and doors; age of the water heaters and air conditioners; slope of the roof.

I thought he'd finished, but then he came into the living room, where I was working, and said this: "One more thing. I need to see under the kitchen sink."

Why would my home-insurance provider need to look under my sink?
I asked him. He evaded the question. "It's just something we look at," he said.

And then I got to thinking. Maybe that space under our sink tells insurers a lot about us. Maybe they use it as a litmus test of some sort. Perhaps that spot under the sink provides a psychological profile of some sort.

Is it dirty and cluttered, like mine? And, if so, does that mean the homeowner doesn't pay attention to details? Does it mean he wouldn't fix things when broken and therefore make the house more susceptible to damage?

I don't keep my trashcan under the sink, as many people do. Would that be a black mark against me?

Was he looking for rat or mice droppings?

Would I be judged for keeping our dead cat's ashes in a box under the sink? (Because that's where they are; I just can't seem to part with dear old Sophie.)

What's under your sink? And what does it say about you?

How to Spot a Good Thai Restaurant

Anyone who's read my books knows I like to eat. Cooking and good food are a big part of my novels Househusband and Southern Living.

My wife and were driving through middle Tennessee this past weekend and decided that Thai food sounded good for lunch. I pulled out my phone and searched Yelp for Thai restaurants near our location on the freeway, and we were soon led to a shack-like restaurant in the shadow of a grain elevator in Lebanon, TN.

I know what you're thinking: Oh, Ad ... that's pretty risky ... Asian food in Andy Griffith Land ...

But we knew immediately that we'd found something special -- and here' s why:


Lining the outside wall of the store were pots of lemongrass, Thai basil and Thai chilis. Obviously, someone inside used fresh, authentic ingredients.

We were quickly proven right: Take a look at this:


Green curry and a plate of whole crawfish sauteed in basil and garlic. Ain't it pretty?

So keep an eye out for those pots, people!

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Alien spotting #5334R2 (at the mall)

And look at these scary feet. They look like cloven hooves, don't they?
Could it be ... Satan?



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Cat = Teenager

In moving two cats from a tropical yard to a 29th-floor Nashville condo, I was worried about keeping them amused. I'd bought this swell, very-tall kitty condo that I hoped the younger cat would take to. But alas ...


Mitchell prefers the sunny spot on the bed, of course, while the ignored kitty condo unsuccessfully tries to pose as art object in the corner.

But not all is lost:


I'm calling it my "butler."

For the man who has everything...

My only question is this: why?

There once were two tuxedo cats, and two men ...

I'd been paying a petsitter, off and on, for nearly a year ... trying to avoid what I envisioned to be hell on earth: transporting two cats, via minivan, to our condo in Nashville, a 14-hour trip from Fort Myers, Florida.

Finally, I mustered up the courage, largely because my best friend agreed to take the trip with me. I set up a catbox and catfood, even made them a playhouse from a big cardboard box. We would stop every hundred miles or so and let them out and let them play and eat and then put them back in their crates ...

That's not what happened. For more than 150 miles, Mitchell, the younger of the two, scream-meowed in that Oh-Lord-Help-Me-I'm-Headed-Toward-The-Veterinarian's-Office manner ...

We let him out. And, to be fair, we released Thomas as well.

While Thomas, The Elder, responsibly hunkered down, beneath my seat, Mitchell decided he wanted the highest view in the van. And, because he finally shut up after finding this perch, we left him there, like the weak, indulgent parents I've judged so many times before. And this was fine ... until, while driving at 79 MPH, we came upon an 18-wheeler STOPPED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INTERSTATE.

Gravity happened. Catbox catapulted against the back seat. Mitchell became airborne.


Yes, those marks on the dashboard are from Mitchell's claws. His rear claws. We know this because he doesn't have front claws.

We were rattled but safe. I shouldn't have let them out, I know. But, hey ... we transport our children in school buses without seatbelts -- don't we?