Luke Leiden, 24, and Jim Conlon, 33, are casing a bulky brick home shrouded in tall bushes on the 3300 block of Idaho Avenue NW. They take pictures with a small digital camera. Leiden puts down notes into clipboard filled with data, drawings, and measurements.

It’s 10:03 a.m. There’s not many residents around. They don’t seem to care about being spotted. We pull over and jump out.

“We’re energy auditors,” explains Conlon.

Sure.

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“It’s not a chore chart?”

“It’s a task list.”

“When did we decide to do that?”

“Like three weeks ago.”

“Has it worked?”

“Sure.”

Not exactly a ringing endorsement from the fiancee. And yet at 12:10 a.m., this counts for a victory inside our cramped apartment with the narrow living room, the cat w/ ADD, the bugs who sometimes decide to check shit out on our kitchen counter, the constant window rattling from the four bus stops that ring our space.

I check stuff off the list. All is right with the world.

Chore lists can be pious things. Some of us just don’t see dirt. It’s a handicap. Excuse us. But my fiancee has learned to tone down her disapproval. She uses crayon drawings to make her points. She then tapes the drawings on our front door. I then get to decipher her hieroglyphics.

I like to think Martha Stewart might attempt such drawings for whoever the hell lives with her (staff? brave intern? graying New York poo-bah?)

About once a week, my fiancee will draw a trashcan or a litter container or make a “task list” of things I need to do. The trashcan drawing means I need to take out the trash. The litter container means I need to go and buy kitty litter (the smelly kind because my lady insists on the smelly kind).

I asked for these task lists.

They work. I think.

Read More “Some People Need Chore Charts” »