Asim Shahzad
I tried to enjoy a quiet evening on my back porch last July, and within four minutes, I was slapping my ankles like I was performing some kind of frantic folk dance. I had welts the size of nickels before the sun even hit the horizon. If you’ve spent a fortune on those “magic” citronella … Read more
I went out to the garden last July, expecting to pick enough Early Girls for a BLT. Instead, I found a crime scene. Half a plant was stripped bare. Just naked green stems and a few sad, jagged leaf stubs. No fruit, no foliage, just total devastation. If you’ve seen this in your own backyard, … Read more
I was sitting on my back porch last July trying to enjoy a cold drink, and within four minutes, I felt like a blood donor for the local mosquito union. My neighbor, who reads too many glossy “lifestyle” magazines, told me I just needed to buy a few pots of lavender and the bugs would … Read more
I was out in my raised beds yesterday, trying to see if my winter kale had finally given up the ghost, and what did I find? A massive mound of dirt right at the base of my kale, crawling with enough ants to carry off a small child. It’s January 2026, and even with the … Read more
I walked out to my rose garden last July and almost had a stroke. Those metallic green jerks—Japanese beetles—had turned my prize-winning petals into something resembling a piece of Swiss cheese. It’s January 28, 2026, and while the ground is currently frozen solid in most of the US and Canada, I’m already losing sleep over … Read more
I was poking around my greenhouse yesterday morning, checking on the winter kale and some early indoor tomato starters I’ve got going for the 2026 season. Everything looked fine until I saw it: that tell-tale sticky residue on the leaves. I flipped a leaf over, and sure enough, a colony of tiny, pear-shaped freeloaders was … Read more
I stepped out onto my porch this morning with a hot cup of coffee, ready to enjoy the crisp January air. Instead, I saw it. A fresh, muddy mound of dirt right in the middle of my dormant grass. It looked like a miniature volcano had erupted overnight. If you’re staring at a yard full … Read more
I was standing in my driveway yesterday morning when my neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, started doing a high-speed tap dance on her porch. She’d spotted a three-foot black snake near her azaleas and was currently trying to “scare it away” by throwing expensive mothballs at it like she was pitching for the Yankees. I told her, … Read more
I walked out to my strawberry patch yesterday morning, expecting to find a few ripe berries for my oatmeal. Instead, I found a crime scene. Half-eaten fruit everywhere. Tiny little footprints in the soft soil. And right in the middle of it all, a fat little chipmunk sitting on his haunches, staring at me like … Read more
I walked out to the backyard this morning with a fresh cup of coffee only to see a massive pile of dirt right under the corner of my tool shed. It wasn’t just a little mound; it looked like someone had tried to install a basement without telling me. If you’re staring at a similar … Read more
I saw a tourist in a park last week trying to hand-feed a gray squirrel a piece of granola bar. I wanted to scream, but I was too busy watching the inevitable. The squirrel didn’t want the bar; it wanted the finger holding the bar. One lightning-fast crunch later, and that tourist was looking for … Read more
I was standing in my garden yesterday morning, admiring a row of freshly planted tulip bulbs, when I saw him. A fat eastern gray squirrel sat on my fence, staring me dead in the eye while casually snacking on a crocus bulb like it was a high-end appetizer. It’s January 2026, and after three decades … Read more
I was drinking my morning coffee on the porch yesterday when I saw a squirrel brazenly trying to pick the lock on my bird feeder. Well, maybe not picking the lock, but he was staring at it with more mechanical focus than my last contractor. I used to have two squirrels in my yard. Now, … Read more
I walked out to my back porch last week to grab the mail, and I nearly dropped my coffee. There, splayed out on the top rail of my fence, was a gray squirrel. He wasn’t moving. Legs kicked back like a tiny pair of fuzzy trousers, chin pressed to the wood, tail limp. I thought, … Read more
I walked into my garden yesterday at 6:00 AM, coffee in hand, ready to admire the big, beautiful “Celebrity” tomato I’d been babying for three months. What did I find? A massacre. It was sitting on the soil, half-ripe, with one—just one—giant, jagged bite taken out of the side. The rest was left to rot. … Read more
It is late January 2026, and the wind is currently trying to rip the siding off my house here in the Northeast. It is the kind of cold that makes your bones ache and your coffee turn lukewarm in three minutes flat. I looked out my window this morning, expecting to see a barren, frozen … Read more
It’s 5:00 AM on a Tuesday in January. You’re finally in that deep, dreamless sleep when it starts. Thump. Scritch. Thump-thump-SCREECH. It sounds like a pack of caffeinated toddlers is running a marathon directly above your pillow. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if your house is haunted or if the roof is … Read more
It’s January 2026, and somehow, despite the frost on the windows in Ohio and the biting wind in Chicago, you’ve got a cloud of fruit flies hovering over your bananas. It’s enough to make a sane person lose their mind. I’ve been around the block, and I’ve seen every “life hack” under the sun. Most … Read more
I’ve spent half my life at the kitchen sink, and I’m tired of it. If you’re like me, you bought an air fryer because it promised a “healthier, faster” way to eat. What the shiny TV commercials didn’t mention was the ten minutes of aggressive scrubbing required to get burnt teriyaki sauce off that wire … Read more
I looked at my mattress yesterday while changing the sheets and nearly had a heart attack. There was a faint yellow stain in the corner—probably from that time the dog decided he owned the bed—and a layer of dust that looked thick enough to grow potatoes in. It’s January 24, 2026, and most of us … Read more
I walked into my daughter’s house last Sunday and nearly had a heart attack. She was loading the dishwasher with her grandmother’s cast iron skillet and my favorite high-carbon steel chef’s knife. I stood there, steam practically coming out of my ears, wondering how we’ve failed an entire generation on basic kitchen survival. It is … Read more
I walked down the cleaning aisle at the big-box store yesterday and nearly had a heart attack. Seven dollars for a spray bottle that’s 95% water and 5% “mountain breeze” perfume? Give me a break. It is January 24, 2026, and somehow we’ve let corporate marketing convince us that we need a different colored plastic … Read more
I walked into the grocery store last week and saw a bag of “organic” Yukon Golds for seven dollars. Seven dollars! For a bag of dirt-covered tubers that probably sat in a warehouse for six months. I stood there, grumpy as a bear in a snowstorm, and thought about my indoor hydroponic setup gathering dust … Read more
I was sitting in my kitchen yesterday, staring at a wilted head of butterhead lettuce I bought for four bucks, and I just about lost it. It’s January 24, 2026. We live in a world where I can track a pizza across town in real-time, yet I have no idea why my “organic” greens taste … Read more
I walked into the grocery store this morning and saw a head of organic lettuce priced at seven dollars. Seven dollars! It’s January 24, 2026, and apparently, we are paying “luxury car” prices for water and leaves. I’m grumpy because you’re being robbed at the checkout line while that same lettuce wilts in your fridge … Read more
I walked into my local grocery store this morning and saw a pint of strawberries for eight bucks. Eight dollars! I picked up the container, and through the plastic, they looked like they’d been harvested with a sledgehammer—white in the middle, bruised on the bottom, and smelling faintly of a shipping container. It’s January 2026, … Read more
I walked into my kitchen yesterday and saw a $5 bunch of supermarket cilantro looking like it had surrendered to a deep, dark depression. It’s January 24, 2026, and somehow we’re still buying herbs in plastic clamshells that turn to slime before the receipt even hits the trash. I’m grumpy because you’re throwing money away … Read more
I spent yesterday afternoon watching my neighbor chase a dozen asphalt shingles across his lawn like he was catching runaway butterflies. It’s January 2026, and we’re still building roofs like it’s 1955. I’m grumpy because every time a “hundred-year storm” hits for the third time this month, people act surprised when their ceiling starts leaking. … Read more
I walked into my neighbor’s house yesterday and almost lost a limb. Between the mountain of soggy sneakers, a rogue hockey stick, and three different charging cables tangled like a nest of vipers, it was less of a “welcome home” and more of a tactical obstacle course. It’s January 24, 2026. We’ve got cars that … Read more
I walked into my neighbor’s garage last week and nearly tripped over a rusty exercise bike and three boxes of “maybe useful” holiday decor from 2012. It’s January 2026, and I’m officially calling time-out on using the most expensive square footage of your home as a glorified junk drawer. We’re living in an era where … Read more
I walked into my sister-in-law’s living room last weekend and nearly hit the floor. She had “color drenched” the entire place. Walls, ceiling, baseboards, even the radiator—all the same shade of deep forest green. It looked like the inside of a giant avocado. I told her, “Linda, I love a good forest, but I’d like … Read more
I woke up at 6:00 AM yesterday, stumbled into the kitchen, and almost took out a vase of decorative twigs just trying to find the espresso pods. It’s January 2026, and somehow we’ve accepted that “living in a small kitchen” means playing a high-stakes game of Jenga with our coffee beans every morning. I’m grumpy … Read more
I walked into my nephew’s new house last week and almost walked right back out. He’d painted his study a white so bright it felt like standing on the surface of the sun. It was cold, sterile, and looked like a medical lab where people go to get their tonsils out. I told him, “Son, … Read more
I visited my nephew’s new apartment in Chicago last weekend. He had this “fiddle leaf fig” in the corner that looked like it was made from recycled soda bottles and sadness. It was shiny, perfectly symmetrical, and sat in a tiny plastic pot that wouldn’t hold up a pencil, let alone a six-foot tree. It … Read more
I never thought I’d see the day. I spent the better part of the last decade helping people rip out heavy corbels, scrub off fake ivy, and paint over “Tuscan gold” walls that looked like a jar of mustard exploded. But here we are in January 2026, and my phone is ringing off the hook … Read more
I walked into my sister-in-law’s house yesterday and I thought I’d accidentally entered a sensory deprivation tank. Every single wall was “Agreeable Gray.” It’s January 21, 2026, and we are still living like we’re afraid of color. It’s depressing. Outside, the sky is a flat sheet of North American winter gloom, and inside, people are … Read more
I woke up this morning, January 21, 2026, looked at my “millennial grey” living room, and felt like I was living inside a cloud of sadness. It’s freezing outside, the heater is making that clicking noise again, and my house feels about as warm as a stainless-steel refrigerator. Then the “color experts” finally did something … Read more
I sat in my living room last night and felt a breeze. My windows were closed. My doors were locked. Yet, there it was—a tiny, icy finger of North American winter air poking me right in the neck. I looked at the thermostat and saw the furnace kicking on for the third time in an … Read more
I walked into my garage yesterday to hang a simple shelf, reached for my trusty impact driver, and was greeted by a sad, grinding noise and a puff of acrid smoke. It’s early 2026, and despite the “space-age” marketing on the boxes, tools still don’t maintain themselves. I am grumpy because that driver was only … Read more
I spent my Saturday morning watching my neighbor try to “eyeball” the nitrogen levels in his soil while his tomatoes looked like they’d been through a blender. It’s 2026, folks. We have robots on Mars, but we’re still treating our backyards like we’re living in the 1700s. I’m grumpy because I see people blowing hundreds … Read more