DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

Today was the open house — three hours of strangers helping themselves to a tour of my home. At first this felt very invasive; I had visions of covering my desk with a big sheet lest anyone poke at my workstation. But after a few showings, and reassurances from my realtor that in his years of practice he’d never had any client report anything missing, I relaxed a bit. I did count all my DVDs this morning though.

My realtor instructed me to be absent during the open house. Apparently there’s nothing worse than having the homeowner around to make prospective buyers nervous. Especially homeowners who are hovering near their electronics and media collections making sure no one touches anything.

So, I did something I have never done before: I went to a movie by myself. During the day, even. It was actually a nice change of pace, although it stung when I ordered my ticket and the cashier at the theater said, in a voice dripping with as much derision as I generally feel about people who go to the movies by themselves, “just one?” I nearly said, “Hey, wait! I really do have friends!” But the evidence was not in my favor, and arguing the point could only have made me more pathetic.

Here’s the morning routine for people whose house is for sale: get up early, shower quickly, hide the soap and shampoo. Hang the towel in the sun to dry. Eat quickly, wash the dishes, hide the sponge. Wipe everything. Skim the newspaper, then walk it around the side of the house to where the recycling bin is stashed, out of sight. Vacuum. And then hope the realtors call rather than appear unannounced. Whatever it takes, don’t get caught on the toilet when the doorbell rings.

We’ll endure a week of this. I want the buyer to have time to be sure this is the perfect place. I expect to begin repeat showings soon.

I went to the house we’re buying twice before making our offer, just to confirm my initial impression that I could happily spend the next 50 years there. The second visit was during their open house. As I was walking in, some other prospective buyers were walking out, and I remember thinking, “yeah, that’s right, get out of my house!” I already knew we’d get it. I want that to happen for someone here as well.

Sorry to leave you hanging yesterday. Here is a photo of the new house and grounds, and a close-up of the new house.

Yeah, the house is a bit smaller than we’d planned. We compromised on size to get something in this exact shade of safety orange.

So, just like that (snap fingers here), we bought a house.

If you’re interested in the old one, let me know.

My cheerful phone voice is getting a real workout. When realtors call, my charm goes to 11.

So the water-treatment guy says, “How long has it been since you flushed the holding tank?”

I said, dumbly, “It needs to be flushed?”

After several months’ delay, we’d finally found someone to service the ozone generator on our water-treatment system. I had previously been led to believe that at least this part of the system was maintenance free. (I’d like to think I’m not that naive, but I am often faced with overwhelming evidence to the contrary.)

The technician laughed, but not in a friendly way. It was more of an “I’m writing your invoice in my mind” sort of laugh. He explained that the injection of ozone into our raw well water causes all the dissolved (ferrous) iron to solidify into ferric iron, which comes out of solution and collects in the bottom of the holding tank. This iron needs to be flushed out every month or two, or it will clog up the rest of the treatment system. Even though this was not part of the plan for the day’s maintenance visit, I asked the technician if he could flush our tank.

He said he could, and then did something unexpected — he reached down to flip open the drain valve, which would have poured 200 gallons of orange muck onto my driveway.

“Whoa, hang on!” I said, just in time. “Can’t you put a hose on that and run it out to the drainage ditch?” In reply I heard some mumbo-jumbo about fittings and hose sizes and so on, although in the end the technician agreed to come back later to drain the tank without trashing my driveway or flooding my yard.

I missed the best photo opportunities, when the fluid was completely opaque, pouring out of the hose with the viscosity of latex paint. This image was taken a few seconds later: still pretty nasty. I was equally surprised when the same hose ran clear, about five minutes (and two rinses) later.

A magazine caught my eye at the gym the other day. The cover pictures a slice of chocolate cheesecake that looks like a plate full of sclerosis. It’s labelled “decadent,” one of the meanings of which is “Being in a state of decline or decay,” which sounds accurate to me although I think that wasn’t what the editor intended.

The surprising thing is that the magazine that featured this recipe is called Cooking Light. I don’t think there’s anything “light” about Brownie Cheesecake Torte. No, I’m not interested in hearing about lowfat brownie mix, nonfat creamcheese, etc… if you really want to eat light, just skip the pie. It’s not that hard to do.

Let’s take a quick poll. If anyone in the audience believes, really believes that Brownie Cheesecake Torte has any place in a healthy diet, please raise your hand. Erm, set down that greasy lamb shank first. Thank you.

I don’t write this to disparage Cooking Light magazine. I’m picking on it momentarily because it makes a convenient example, in the case of this particular cover story, of the wrongheaded thinking that keeps most people unhealthy, even when people want to change. Many Americans believe they can have contradictory goals: eat the pie, lose weight anyway. Sorry, but chemistry just doesn’t work that way.

To be clear, I think everyone should eat whatever they want to eat. I have no designs on becoming a nutritional expert or diet guru. But I wish people would stop deceiving themselves about the relationship between their lifestyle and their bodies. Or, in short: “Actions have consequences.”

Now, put your hands back down before you starve to death.