The Village Idiot (retired)

I was flipping through a glossy home decor magazine and stopped at a section on bathrooms. The featured element, the tub, was a harsh, gray rectangle with knife-edge corners made of gray poured concrete.

There were other things in there that used to be vegetables, but were now composting at an alarming rate. Is cauliflower better-tasting when it’s brown? Are carrots supposed to be as soft to the touch as raw hot dogs? And how can you tell if broccoli has gone bad? It seems to taste the same.

I just made Japanese-style chicken from a recipe I found online. I printed out a list of ingredients and headed for the grocery store, because for some reason, I couldn’t find anything called mirin in my fridge.

She’s 18 and has half a zillion followers on Instagram. Her posts are full of great pearls of wisdom like, “Somedays I feel pretty and somedays I don’t.” That bit of knowledge should be good for a few million likes and a couple of thousand comments.

It seems to be taking an awfully long time to remodel the guest bathroom, but that’s partly my fault. Apparently you can’t just put a shower anywhere you want, because they have to move the pipes.

Malta is a country on three small islands between Sicily and Africa, almost dead-center in the Mediterranean. It’s about the size of Staten Island, but it’s an independent country and a member of the European Union.

In almost all public men’s restrooms — airports, truck stops, stadiums, convenience stores — there are now diaper-changing stations. Because dads are certainly just as capable of changing diapers as moms.

I’ve never been in an accident, but it’s finally dawning on me how many of my friends volunteer to drive for me after they spend a few minutes in my passenger seat, stamping down on the nonexistent passenger-side brake pedal.

Before they were world-famous, or even Great Britain-famous, the Beatles would play three or four shows a day at several different venues. If you’ve ever been in a band, you know what that means.

Get your checkbooks out — it’s bargain time. The average price of a Manhattan apartment has dropped from $1.2 million to $1.1 million.

It used to be that convenience stores at popular summer beaches had signs on the front door that read “No shirt, no shoes, no entry.” It was right next to the sign that read “Bathroom for customers only.” Now the sign on the door says, “No shirt, no shoes, no problem.”