David McCoy is taking a break. This column originally ran Feb. 12, 2010.
Editor's note: Columnist David McCoy is taking a break. This column was originally published in July, 2011.
It's been almost five years since I started Pecan Pie for the Mind, and I've finally succumbed to the classic "writing about writing" device that so many use to rattle off a quick column.
It's really hard to hear people sometimes, isn't it?
My recent "do-it-yourself" oil change debacle brought me to a painful crossroads: Do I keep fiddling with this myself, or do I let a professional help me?
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Have you ever encountered incompetent handymen? Maybe you wanted a few damaged roof shingles repaired, and instead, your hired hands installed new toilet seats in your bathrooms because they were too afraid to scale the roof.
Last week, while out of town and staying in a hotel, I had a most exasperating experience. I was snoozing away in my fluffy rented bed, and when it came time to wake up, I didn't quite make it all the way. I woke just enough to see a little bit of sunlight, and a glimpse of the walls, but nothing looked familiar, so my brain stayed closed for business. That's when I had ...
Last week, while out of town and staying in a hotel, I had a most exasperating experience. I was snoozing away in my fluffy rented bed, and when it came time to wake up, I didn't quite make it all the way. I woke just enough to see a little bit of sunlight, and a glimpse of the walls, but nothing looked familiar, so my brain stayed closed for business. That's when I had the ...
If you're a man who's been invited to a wedding, you need to heed my advice so you know what to do at these alien affairs.
As a kid, I hated Sunday mornings with a passion I now reserve only for unimaginable evils such as genocide and raw onions. Sunday - "the day of rest" - was far from restful for me, and I blame it on a weekly ritual, "dressing up for Sunday school."
Let your mind wander back to kindergarten, and think about those simpler times and all the fun you had. It doesn't matter where you come from; you have to admit that kindergarten was fun. You played with toys, sang songs, colored pictures of fire trucks, and learned radically new concepts like sharing and the letter Q.
There's an interesting picture hanging in the bathroom of a particular shop here in town.
I wish the weather would stop playing games with us here in the South. It wasn't more than a few weeks ago that I slipped into a pair of short pants for puttering around the house.
Spring is here, and after we sailed past Good Friday and the risk of frost, it is now planting time! I've bought seeds and pots and I'm ready to plant something.
I decided to let my remaining hair grow a lot longer than it normally does, and someone suggested I "must be in a mid-life crisis." Well, yeah! I've been in a mid-life crisis for at least 12 years now, and I have no intention of ending it anytime soon.
Gentlemen...you need to go to baby-holding school. You know how you get when you're around newborns. When the parents come by with their little bundles, you lay your arms by your sides and say, "Let someone else hold it ... first." Yes, you actually say "it." And what's this "first" business? You know you have no intention of being number two or number 20. You don't ever plan to hold that baby. Women hold tiny ...
It happened again today. Something was wrong with the gents' toilet and I wanted to wash my hands. What to do? What to do? Yep. I did it. I washed my paws in the room marked "Ladies." The door was wide open, no one was in there and the sink was calling my name: "David ... David ... come wash up in here." If you've ever heard a sink calling your name, you'd best just ...
I titled this column after Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's famous song because it properly reflects the story I'll tell, and because I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one on the planet who has realized the truth about home schooling.
Let's be painfully blunt: It's not possible for a man to be sick and remain manly. I'd like to claim that testosterone is the cure-all that keeps guys burly and ferocious through all kinds of challenges, but that hormone bows in defeat before the cold, the flu, or - in my case - bronchitis. I spent much of the new year fighting off a nasty infection, and that's when I learned just how far we ...
Many of your respected newspaper columnists are offering New Year's resolutions, but notice I said, "respected." That's your first clue that I'm not going in for the tradition resolutions game. Instead, I want to look back on 2012 and review some things that just didn't work for me. I'm resolving nothing about 2013, but I'll remember these mistakes and maybe I won't repeat them. This is a lighter approach to resolutions where I'll make a ...