Category: Home improvement

Now, I am no dishwasher expert, but I am fairly certain that when you run your dishwasher, the dishes at the end of a cycle should be clean, and not covered in a disgusting film.

I made this lovely discovery the other night when the dishwasher finished and I opened it up. I took out the first mug and thought, “Hmm. That’s gross. I don’t think I’d want to drink coffee out of that.” And I put it back in the sink, assuming it was an anomaly.

After about the fourth glass, that part of my brain that sometimes falls asleep woke up and said, “Uh, Mike. There’s kind of a pattern here…”

This is a fairly new dishwasher, and to this point had been fairly good at cleaning the dishes and not coating them in a gnarly caked-on funk.

Once I removed all the dishes and piled them in my sink (and, when that was full, all around the countertops, making my kitchen look something that the health department should shut down), I began to assess the situation.

And the situation was gross.

Next, I did probably the worst thing I could do: I hit Google. What I found were plenty of helpful videos on how to fix a dishwasher that was not cleaning the dishes. The reason this is a bad idea? The people who make those videos are competent home improvement people. I am not.

After about 10 minutes, having disassembled various parts of the dishwasher and spreading them out on the kitchen floor, that part of my brain woke up again. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you text Michael?” it said.

Michael is my neighbor across the street. He is in the plumbing business, and knows how to fix things, two very important things I lack in this situation.

I texted him, and he was over in a few minutes. Good neighbors are good.

He began assessing the situation and running a few tests. He began peering into the garbage disposal as he ran the washer, which right there told me I was a moron, as I had no idea those two were connected. I just assumed they were just kitchen neighbors.

Turns out, there is a drain at the bottom of the dishwasher that sends stuff to its neighbor. That had become clogged with what I think was a piece of glass. After some poking and prodding with a screwdriver, the piece was dislodged. A few more tests, and things started flowing the proper way.

For what it’s worth, my wife was out of town at the time. Because I’m a fun guy, I did take a picture of Michael checking things out under the sink with just the text, “Everything’s fine…” She sighs a lot.

I ran a few cycles with the dishwasher empty, and it appeared to have cleaned everything out and was again working like a champ.

I will say that I have often relied on the dishwasher to do a lot of the heavy lifting when it comes to cleaning. I would like to be able to pull a full dish of lasagna in and having it come out shiny clean. However, I will acknowledge that in the future, I should try to be more diligent to ensure the dishes get a rinsed a wee bit better before they go in, should a foreign object clog it again.

That said, I kinda know me, and I kinda know that I will back to the old me in due time. And then, the next time I have this problem, I hope my brain wakes up a little sooner and says, “Stop. Call Michael.”

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

Such wisdom from a teenager: “Dad, don’t tell Mom ‘I told you so,’ ok?”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t promise you that.”

My daughter and I were trying to replace a gazebo canopy on our back deck, and this was moments after we realized we had gotten the wrong size.

The canopy had torn last year courtesy of Hurricane Matthew. I had tried to patch it together with some heavy duty tape, which looked just as classy as you would expect.

My wife and I had been in a home improvement store recently and saw an entire gazebo for sale for the, it seemed to me, quite reasonably price of $200. I said, “Let’s buy it.” My wife, being the sensible one, said, “Yeah, let’s not right this second, ok?”

When we got home, she began searching online, where she found a canopy for sale for $25. I am not a mathematician, but I think that’s less than the $200 for the entire thing.

The seller sent my wife some pictures and the specs. We went to the back deck and checked the measurements and tried our best to make sure the pictures matched our model. It looked FAIRLY close. “I’m not sure it’s the same model,” I told my wife.

She reminded me that $25 is waaaaay less than $200, and that it would (a) fit or (b) not fit, and we can chalk it up in the “C’est la vie” category.

I went and picked up the canopy and brought it home. My wife and son were gone, so I decided it would be a fun surprise if I got it up before they got home. It was definitely a two-person job, so I enlisted the support of my daughter.

The first thing we did was savagely rip the old canopy off, celebrating the removal of our torn and worn covering. Once done, we unfurled the new canopy. Seemed to be the right size, just as the measurements had promised us.

Then I looked at the corners, where it attached to the frame of the gazebo. Not at all the same. And not at all going to work. I climbed on a ladder for closer inspection, as if being six inches from the obvious mismatch would somehow make it fit.

I mumbled something about how I knew it wasn’t go to be the right one. OK, mumbled probably isn’t the right word. Grumbled loudly, probably.

I dropped the canopy and let it fall to the deck flooring. I stared at my daughter, who decided to offer up the choice words of household harmony.

My daughter, being the perpetual optimist, said we could probably find a way to make it work. I told her that the connection points were for a different model, and that it would not ever work and that it was probably the worst thing that had happened to anyone in the last decade or so.

“What if we used zip ties to connect it?”

Oh. Right. Sure, let’s try that.

After about ten minutes, we had the canopy secured, with the zip ties firmly in place and tucked away out of sight. My daughter asked if she could tighten the zip ties, which I realized after the fact was so that she could remind me that it was not only her idea but her sweat equity that got the job done. No credit for Mr. Pessimist. Rightfully so.

When my wife came home, she was pleased to see the new canopy up. Our daughter was quick to tell her that she was the brains and brawn behind the assembly, which she was. And I gave her full credit for that. I was proud she came up with a solution and executed it. I told my wife that our daughter had done a great job, and I thought the canopy looked great. Even if it was a different model. Just as I had told her.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

My wife and I have been together for more than 20 years. So suffice to say, I can determine with fairly good accuracy what situation awaits when I hear my name called from another room at a louder than usual level.

For example, there is, “MICHAEL!” in a high, fast, curt tone. That means there is a roach crawling across the floor.

Or, “MI-CHAELLLL…” in a sing-songy sweet delivery, which means she has found the missing wallet I have been trying to find for our hours, having located it exactly where she had suggested I look hours earlier.

And then there is, “MICHAEL!!!!” in a quick, urgent yelp, which clearly says, “Pause ‘Dr. Strange’ and get in here right now because the laundry room is flooded.”

Yep, heard that last one the other night.

As I leapt from the chair, I told our daughter to pause the movie. Even the teenager who was really into the movie knew that pausing the movie was the a-plus move based on mom’s tone.

Sure enough, I entered the laundry room and water was everywhere.

“That’s not good,” I said, making the single boldest statement ever.

Safe bet it was the washing machine, as it’s the only thing in that room that routinely hangs around with gallons of water. We began putting towels all over the floor, and pulled the washing machine out to clean up as much as we could. Fun fact: Do you know what is behind and under your washing machine? A nightmarish collection of yuck that probably makes beneath your fridge look like an operating room. Also, several pairs of underwear.

Once we cleaned the entire area we decided to start the washing machine and see if we could pinpoint the problem.

We started the wash and the water started flowing into the unit. “We may have to wait for the whole cycle to run,” I told my wife, “so we can determine where along the cycle…”

And then water came pouring out from underneath the washing machine.

Never mind. It’s this part of the cycle. I turned the washer off and we cleaned up our newest flood. Wondering if perhaps I could fix this problem myself, I watched three YouTube videos on how to remove the cover from a washing machine. After realizing I was unable to even figure out how to get the cover off and look at where the problem may be, I confidently said, “Yep, time to buy a new one.”

OK, I am sure I could have called a repairman or someone with a hint of mechanical skills. But the bottom line is this washing machine is older than my oldest child, and has slowly been breaking down over the years. Even if I could fix this problem, I would just be delaying the inevitable.

So we set out washer shopping. I say “we” because that makes me feel like I played a part in this. I did not, as I would have walked into the store, seen a washer, and said, “I’ll take it.” My wife, however, actually does research on these things and finds out which units are, you know, good.

Eventually we (she) found some potential models. She humored me by taking me to the store and showing me the two finalists. She asked which I preferred. I said, “That one. It’s cheaper.” She informed me there was more to it than that. I told her that’s why she is in charge of important things in our house, and I am in charge of killing roaches. Skill sets.

So our new unit should be delivered in a few days, and hopefully this one will serve us for many faithful years. And if it does have some issues, especially after its warranty has expired, I will just YouTube some ways to fix it. And then buy a new one.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

I used to have a very simple three-part checklist to go over when purchasing a new lawnmower:

• Does it meet my wife’s pre-approved budgetary ceiling?
• Does it start after one or two pulls?
• Can it roll over any and everything its path — including but not limited to sticks, rocks, toys, lawn furniture and laundry that has fallen off a clothesline — and still keep grinding away?

If the answer was yes to these, consider new mower purchased. And based on number three, that might explain why I purchase lawn mowers slightly more often than most people purchase shoes.

Yes, I am not exactly gentle on my mowers. But after my previous mower’s death, I found it was time to reevaluate things in my life.

My last mower was purchased off of Craig’s List, so while it did not come with a warranty, it did come with the guarantee of hours of anxiety leading up to the sale as I went through the many scenarios in which this transaction would go bad and I would end up in the news as just another one of the Craig’s List Lawn Mower Killer’s victims. “HOW COULD YOU NOT HAVE SEEN THIS COMING, MIKE!?!?!?” I said to myself about 30 seconds before getting out and handing a guy some cash in the driveway of his very nice home. (Spoiler alert: He did not kill me.)

This mower was pretty solid for the first few uses. Started quickly. Mowed over whatever was in its path. Seemed to be a pretty solid character.

And then it revealed itself. I had filled up the gas tank prior to cutting the yard. My yard is not that big, so it does not take a whole tank of gas to cut the entire thing. In fact, it maybe takes a quarter of a tank. So when I finished, there was plenty of gas still in the mower.

Fast forward about an hour, and there was not plenty of gas in the mower. There was plenty of gas on the mower. There was plenty of gas around the mower. Even I can determine that is not ideal functionality from a gas tank.

At this point, something in me snapped. I was tired of messing with mowers. (Even if I was often the reason they were breaking.) I was tired of dealing with gasoline. I was tired of having chunks of children’s toys shoot out of the mower at lethal speeds when I run over them in the yard.

So I decided punt my requirements for a mower. I went rogue. When I told my wife my decision, she said, “Really?” Indeed, I had decided I would buy an electric mower. The cheapest one I could find. One that was just probably slightly more powerful than a ceiling fan.

I found one online for under $100. “Remember,” my wife said, “you get what you pay for.” I reminded her that my last purchase cost more and resulted in about three mows and a gas leak. “Fair enough,” she said.

In a few days, my mower arrived. The assembly took roughly four seconds, as it involved snapping the handle onto the base.

There is no cord to pull to start. Rather, you plug it in and push a button, and off it roars. OK, purrs.

It is not going to run over any large objects any time soon. In fact, the first time I used it, it ran up against some rather thick St. Augustine and had to make a few passes to get through it.

And yes, trailing an extension cord did occasionally present a hiccup during the mowing as it decided to get tangled around a wheel or a foot or a nearby tree. Upside – just stop and untangle, and then push the button again and you’re back and running.

And yes, I have to manage my personal expectations of yard manliness (or lack thereof) I am exuding. Sure you can have a conversation at normal tone while the mower is running. That doesn’t make me any less of man.

I have now mowed the yard a few times with it. It takes me a little bit longer than previously, but not by more than a few minutes. And so far, I don’t have to deal with any mechanical issues, and certainly no gas issues.

So I will continue with my adorable little electric mower for the time being. I will clear the path before I mow, and I will deal with the cord as I need to. And I will try and keep this one in good condition and hopefully won’t have to buy another one for a long time. After all, I’ve dodged the Craig’s List Lawn Mower Killer once. No sense in tempting fate a second time.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

After nearly two decades of marriage, I think my wife has accepted the fact that I have the interior decorating skills of a shoebox.

We are looking to get new flooring in our downstairs. We currently have a mix of carpet, tile and hardwood, which all roughly looks the same to me.

We have tile in our kitchen, hardwood in the hallway, and carpet in the rest of the house. I probably would not know this if she had not pointed it out to me, as the only way I process floors is through my current shoe selection, and quite frankly, when I roll down for my morning coffee, all I’m feeling is the sweet, sweet comfort of my 10-year-old slippers that my wife begs me to let her replace every Christmas. (Answer: No. They’re national treasures.)

But I am a good soldier, and as we move on to this phase of home improvement, I have dutifully gone to the flooring places with my wife to “help” pick out the floor we will have.

At one point, my wife had a couple of samples and asked me what I thought. I pointed at one sample. “Do you think that’s darker than our kitchen floor?”

“Our kitchen floor is white. So yes,” she said with a sigh.

“No, our kitchen floor…”

“Is white,” she interrupted. Later observations confirmed our floor is, in fact, white, and so pretty much anything she picked out other than a white sample would, in fact, be darker.

For what it’s worth, I have never been very good with noticing nuances such as color or texture or whether things actually exist in my house. We bought our first house nearly 20 years ago. At one point during our tenure there (and I can’t even begin to fathom what started this conversation), I referenced that our house was gray. My wife looked at me as if I had said that our house was a giant mushroom. Our house, it turns out, was tan. Fine. But that really never registered with me, because those are details that clearly are more complex than what I can comprehend.

We (she) eventually settled on a couple of samples she liked. We brought them home with us and she began strategically placing them at different points in the house. We had conversations such as this, when she placed them next to kitchen cabinets:

ME: Looks great!

HER: Looks terrible. We’ll have to paint the kitchen cabinets.

ME: Well, yeah, except that.

We are now in the estimate stage, which I am actually very helpful at, because when someone comes in to measure our house, I can absolutely be there to let the person in and can also identify where the downstairs is.

We are also planning on painting some rooms, and my wife has pretty much taken that on by herself, and not just because I have the color sense of a coffee table. I have told her that, much like the floors, I will be happy to be at the house and open the door for painters giving estimates, and also feel quite confident I can point out which walls we plan to paint (assuming my wife reminds me a few times).

In my defense, my wife knows that this is a limited skill of mine, and also not one that really ranks high on the caring scale in my world. I really don’t have much of an opinion on what colors our walls are or what kind of flooring we have. It REALLY matters to my wife, and I yield those decisions to her. She knew what she was getting into when she married me. For example, when we picked out our china prior to our wedding, she asked me for input. I told her that I really didn’t care, as plates were simply a functional device to hold my food. Ultimately, she offered this deal: She would narrow down the choices to three patterns, and I would cast my vote. As we stood in the store, the three plates before me, you might as well have put three different size Chinet disposable plates in front of me. Because all of them seemed plenty capable of hosting a turkey sandwich. I pointed at one, hesitantly. She gave a slight turn of the head and squinted her eyes. I moved my finger to another one. A quick nod down. “I like this one!” I said. “Hey, me, too!” she said. And those plates still do a bang-up job of holding our dinner.

I’m glad we’re doing some of the renovations in the house, and I know it will look stellar when we are done. I am most pleased that my wife is happy about getting to put her expert interior design skills to work. And that I am getting to put my expert skills of opening a door and pointing out where our downstairs is.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

 

If there is one thing the internet is good at, it’s spreading ill-informed information at light speed. And one area we as a society have gotten really proficient at sending out bad information is in the form of “life hacks,” those tips that are designed to make your life better with some simple twist on a common problem that makes your life changed forever.

Only problem, most of these “life hacks” are often unnecessarily complicated or just don’t plain don’t work. For example, I once saw one that solved the non-problem of putting pancake batter into a pan. It suggested you put the pancake batter into an empty ketchup bottle, and you then could easily squirt the batter into a pan. There are a couple of flaws with this. First off, putting pancake batter into a pan isn’t really something that needs improving. If you’re having trouble with it, you probably should just go to IHOP and let them handle the pancakes. Second, while I haven’t tried doing it, I am just guessing the task of getting the ketchup bottle clear of ketchup smell is no easy task, and that pouring the batter into said ketchup bottle is WAY more messy than just dropping it into a big ol’ pan.

So I normally don’t even bother reading these things any more when they pop up on my computer. But recently one caught my eye as I saw it several times.

It said that for stubborn stains in a skillet, soak the pan in soapy water, but add a dryer sheet. An hour or so later, no scrubbing or scraping. The funk in the pan would slide right out. So I tried it.

And you know what? It worked. Like a charm. Thanks, internet. I have actually added something useful to my world because of you.

So I started wondering if perhaps I had some actual functional life hacks that didn’t involve old ketchup bottles. And I do. Since the internet so often feeds us misleading information, today I give you these Mike’s Life Hacks that, like the dryer sheet trick, actually make your life dramatically better. OK, not dramatically. But maybe nominally.

• When you have a gift card for a store, go the store to browse. And leave the gift card in the car. This is especially helpful with kids. That way, you do not buy the first thing you see, and actually go through the store and find something you actually want beyond the first aisle. And when you decide on an item, you may be surprised how much you actually don’t want it on the walk back to your car to retrieve the gift card.
• When you are going grocery shopping for a big grocery haul, park next to a shopping cart corral. I have been to a lot of parking lots in my life. And never have I been to one where even the farthest parking spot is that far of a walk. Load your groceries, put the cart up right there, be on your way. So many problems solved.
• Speaking of shopping, if you are like and me and use cloth grocery bags, you are probably also like me and routinely get into the store and realize you left the bags in your car at best and sitting on your kitchen counter at worst. So, when you get ready to go, thread the handle of one of the bags through your belt loop and sit on it for your drive to the store. Even if you forget over the course of your three-minute drive, you’ll quickly be reminded when you get out of your car.
• There is very little chance you will drive anywhere without your keys. Need to make sure you bring something with you when you leave? Put your car keys with them. On at least two occasions, co-workers have come to me and said, “Uh, are these your keys in the fridge?” “Yes,” I tell them. “Because I bought milk at the grocery store at lunch and put it in the fridge to make sure it comes home with me. So back to the break room with my keys!”
• Next time you go through a drive-through for some fast food, there is a good chance they stuff about 20 napkins in your bag. Rather than throw them out with your quarter-pounder wrapper, put the napkins in your glove box. I don’t know when you will need them, but you will.
• The next time you take out your household garbage, pitch a couple of empty, folded trash bags at the bottom of your now-empty trash cans, and then add the new trash bag on top. That way, for the next few times you take out the trash, your replacement is there. If you are not using trash bags, ewww.

I hope these help make your life so much finer that you are in an eternal state of bliss from this point forward. But, if they are not enough for that, maybe we can figure out someway to include a ketchup bottle.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Charleston. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.