“Hey, Dad! Can I borrow your drill?”The unexpected sound of my son’s pubescent voice derailed my concentration from the excruciatingly maddening task of replacing a fluorescent bulb in my bathroom. I had ignored my wife’s pleas for several weeks in the hope that the bulb would magically revert from a hypnotic strobe to the steady warm glow that my wife so missed. I had missed it too, but not badly enough to attempt to change the malicious thing. Whoever invented fluorescent lights makes Josef Mengele seem like a sweet old lovable grandpa. Only after I had amputated the left half of my face attempting to shave by the photonic sputtering of the offending light, had I realized I could no longer procrastinate my fate.
To read the entire article click here.