“The ramblings and grumblings of author Ad Hudler”

Life Lesson in Consumerism #443378R45
Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Sign that you picked the wrong toilet paper:

Beyond sheer.
And, since I bought it at Costco, we'll run out of it in ... oh ... nineteen months or so. 
A word of advice for future Hudler-household guests: BYOTP

Houskeeping Secret #554R2: How to clean crystal glassware
Wednesday, January 20, 2016

My wife and I like to entertain, and, being Southerners for most of our adult lives, we like to do it up right. This means crystal glassware, of course.

Problem: streaking due to hand-washing. (There's always some microscopic bit of grease in there somewhere!)

Solution: dissolvable dishwasher pods.

As the sink fills with warm water hold one of the pods under the running water. A very-cool thing happens: the plastic melts, and the pod of liquid and powder dissolves right before your eyes. Let your young children do this part for you -- it's that cool!

Wash and rinse as normal. The water feels very slippery, so be careful with that crystal, but you will have absolutely no streaks in your glassware.

Linc Menner, protagonist of Househusband, would be proud!

Lost in translation?
Thursday, January 7, 2016

'Just saw this ad that promotes tourism in Equador:

On one hand, clever: using the interesting hide of an alligator to suggest the earth's topography. On the other hand ... isn't it a little scary?

... inviting someone to come romp through your lovely country that could, at any second, turn on you and eat you up? 

Unpredictable dictators, dengue fever, anacondas, hungry natives ...

Oh, the metaphors!

Wanda, Me, and The Reluctant Ice-maker
Friday, July 17, 2015

We have an automatic ice maker in the 'fridge that is either lazy or stupid. Twice we've had to get it replaced because it would stop making ice for long periods of time. For several days there would be no ice at all and then ..... clatterclatterkerplunkfssshhhhhh

WHOA THERE! ... Yes! ... It's awake!!!! ... look at this CORNUCOPIA of ice!!! 

And then, inexplicably, it would stop again. Sometimes it would work for an hour. Sometimes for a week.

Ice is a big deal in our house because cocktails are a big deal. So I bought three ice-cube trays as a backup. Now ... here's the odd part: Whenever we give up on the machine and start using ice trays, then she (he?) decides to kick in and start making ice, as if rising to a challenge.

We've even started trash-talking him/her to egg him/her on: "We don't even need you. We LIKE the tray ice cubes better because they're bigger."


My mother-in-law's spirit having fun with me?
Is that you?
Are you trying to tell me I'm drinking too much?

Yes, you may tip the concierge
Monday, March 16, 2015

As many of you know, besides writing my books I also work as a concierge in a large luxury hotel. (This is providing excellent fodder for my novel-in-progress) This week we are hosting a group of executives from an industry my wife used to work in, and I know many of them. So ... since we are friends/acquaintances, feel free to heed my advice:

Yes, it is good to tip the concierge. $20 if he gets you a good rez at a popular restaurant, $50 if he walks your dog while you're out partying, $5 if he simply looks cute and/or handsome as he types out your boarding pass.

Also, at the end of your stay you will get an email survey. Feel free to cut and paste the following:

"The hot, bald concierge was perfect in his performance. He made my Nashville experience MEMORABLE in every way, and because of him we are thinking of staying in your hotel every time we come to town, and we are going to write an incredibly cheery review on TripAdvisor.com  You def need to give this man a huge raise and consider giving him a private assistant so he can do even more!

Beauty and the Beast: Alternate Ending #2
Saturday, February 21, 2015

Oh, no!  Apparently the beast is going to remain a beast for All Time!

A Sneak Peek of my first Nashville book ...
Monday, February 9, 2015

Here's the description of the security guard at the hotel who's breaking up a fight between two bachelorette parties at the pool:

Patrice Runnels was six feet tall, weighing in around 250, with gold-capped front teeth and hair piled up in a malformed beehive, circa 1970s Dolly Parton, with straightened, stiff tendrils that hung down the sides of her cheeks, bracing her face like big parentheses. Her breasts, somewhere between honeydew and small watermelon, were so large, almost surreal, they’d crossed the line from feminine to male, giving an air of muscle and foreboding.