Occasionally, I must revisit past columns with updates and clarifications. Everything I write is true, of course, since exaggeration of my blunder-laden life would be like Barbra Streisand embellishing the size of her nose. But there are those rare misrepresentations.
A recent column in the Tribune’s Home Improvement edition recounted 35 years of roofing misery — falls, vanishing ladders in windstorms, sunstroke, etc. I suggested that may be why most roofers are lushes; they drink to forget. But that is stereotyping, which you might expect from a drunken Irishman, but not a good German boy like me.