Compare and Contrast:
Let’s see.
- Our hand-me-down IKEA shelf is assembled and in the den (temporarily).
- The coal cellar has been de-insulated and shot with Tigerfoam, as well as the southeast corner of the basement.
- The 4,000 ton color printer is broken down and loaded in the Scout, ready to be driven to work.
- The server is high and dry in the front corner of the basement.
- Finn made it to dance class during the middle of the ice storm.
- There’s 5 gallons of Pumpkin Ale fermenting in the basement.
- My DJ Lance costume is assembled and ready for tomorrow.
As I wander through the house a mere month before the wedding, I make a mental list of stuff that I’d like to do or have done. Besides the obviously huge projects (central air, adding that wing off the back for the wine cellar, putting the second floor studio on the garage, fencing the yard, bulldozing the neighbors’ yard for our hedge maze), there’s a pile of smaller things I’d like to do when we get back from Italy:
- Keyed locksets for the doors. (We have more keys for this house than the Home Depot.)
- A bird feeder. (All of the feeders I’ve seen so far are crap—thin plastic, cheap-ass poles, or pitifully ugly. I want to feed the birds, not run a squirrel soup kitchen.)
- A ladder. (Our gutters are full of more gunk than a restauraunt sink drain, and we have a house’s worth of windows crying for paint. Nevermind the rest of the house.)
- A dishwasher. (Cheap by itself, but the reconfiguring of our door-tastic kitchen is going to take a lot of work.)
- Shelving for the basement. (Getting all the crap off the front porch into the basement is simply moving one mess to another location; organization is in order here.)
- A new dryer. (The Brady Bunch-era unit we use now is both useless and small, and we need some serious commercial drying muscle—as well as better energy efficiency.)
- A gas range. (Oh, my HELL, to borrow a phrase from the P.S.D.F., does our electric oven suck donkeys. I’m sure we bring down the power grid in Catonsville every time we turn on the damned thing, and it cooks as well as a heroin addict.)
Spurred on by a comment from Lis, I posted a bunch of pictures of our garden I took this weekend. For the tech-heads, I’m using a Canon G3 with a 58mm close-up lens (thanks Dad) in natural sunlight. The one on the home page is the only one I lit additionally—just a mini-maglight from underneath to brighten the center.
I also got off my ass and started up the picture-a-week thing I’ve been threatening for years; I’m going to try to post a new illustration on varying topics, and I’m going to involve you, my four loyal readers. Each Monday, I’ll take suggestions from you for an interesting editorial story, article, or biography, and choose one for an illustration, and then post it (gulp) by Friday. So, send me an interesting article you’ve seen online (please keep it under 2-3 pages) that could make for an interesting illustration, and I’ll draw you a drawering.
So it’s about 55 degrees outside and raining. With the exception of last Friday (or, Let’s Throw Our Back Out Day) and a little on Saturday, the weather has been for crap lately. As a result, I’ve not been writing very well, or taking pretty pictures, or being creative in any fashion. So right now I have to take time out, slap myself around a little, and think about all the positives that are currently happening:
- The office and blue room, which are awaiting the attentions of Ben, the friendly helpful electrician, tomorrow night;
- Moving two people’s worth of living upstairs, and beginning to use the other half of our house;
- The waves of daffodils, tulips, and other bulbs blooming in the side garden;
- The Patron Saint of Dysfunctional Weddings, whose birthday is today, and who is fashioning the headpiece for Jen (shout-outs to you);
- Jen’s sudden promotion from a two-week freelance gig to part time work two miles from our house;
- Five weeks to the wedding and no dead bodies;
- The Federal Government, whose loan came due just in time to pay for half our honeymoon to Italy.
The weather is clearing up this weekend, by all accounts, and hopefully so will my creative block.
I hafta admit, I wish I had installed the comments system here a year ago. It’s been really interesting to write about different subjects and see what you’ve responded to over the last month, so I’m doing a little unscientific list:
- Online Personality Tests – 2 entries out of 3 got comments. (My Theory: everybody got tired of them, or you already got them in your inbox the previous morning)
- Working on the house – 3/4 (You feel sorry for us, and are secretly happy your houses aren’t broke-down like this one is)
- Wedding Information – 2/3 (You’re thinking, enough already…am I invited or not, you cheap prick?)
- Weekend Updates – 2/3 (Because it’s just so much more interesting than the rest of this crap.)
- Computers – 1/4 (This is you: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz)
- Trucks – 2/2 (Everybody loves trucks.)
- Booze – 1/1 (Almost as much as they like booze.)
- NASCAR – 0/1 (But nobody likes NASCAR.)
- Democrats 2/2 (OK, damn, this got some feathers rustled. Good to see you’re still awake out there.)
- Frigging AOL – 1/1 (And who doesn’t have a frigging AOL story?)
- TPS Reports – 1/1 (Or forgotten to put a cover on theirs?)
- Maryland Ham – 1/1 (Wow. I mean, this one got some people talking. Or maybe it was the beets.)
- Work changes – 0/3 (You don’t care where we’re employed, as long as we pick up the next round of drinks. Ungrateful bastards.)
So there you have it; that’s what people are talking about.
Pictures. Here’s some shots of the office in progress.
Daily Boardscan. Jen and I have a blue paperweight sitting in the foyer of the house taking up space: a rev C (slot-loading) iMac I bought a few months back in working condition. During the install of OS 10.3, I accidentally kicked the power cord out of the wall and (predictably) it went dark. Upon reboot, the machine made the needed clicks, whirs, and beeps, and showed nothing on the screen. Apparently I had blown the video board in my clumsiness, rendering the machine useless (this unfortunately is not the DVD model with the VGA out port on the back) for anything but anchoring a boat. What I’d like to do is swap it for the rev B grape iMac server, as it’s faster and quieter, but money and time have put those plans on hold. Anyway, after searching in vain for information online about this malady, I found this page with other folks having the same problems.
Music for working by: Chemical Brothers, One Too Many Mornings. Beautiful, driving, relaxed beats.
So, to recap, here’s the weekend:
- Jen has several irons in the fire for a new job; our friends came together and found some promising leads, and the Washington Post has a ton of current listings.
- The invitations came out very, very well. Save the Date cards went out Saturday. (free offset printing is awesome.)
- Jen and I have introduced her sister Annie to the joy of sushi and Sapporo. May the road to alcoholism and raw fish be a happy one.
- The spring dinner was much, much better than last year. (They ran out of carryout. Sorry folks.)
- Jen’s folks were very cool this weekend. On our wedding day, she will be wearing a beautiful set of cameo earrings brought over on the boat by her great-grandmother. (Picture to come.)
- You already read my gloating about the doors.
- No, we weren’t on the ferry that capsized. (Mom, we got your message, but couldn’t call you last night. We’ll be in touch.) Trivia: I’ve never been on a water taxi in twelve years as a Baltimoron.
- Lest you thought we were expecting our guests would camp on the lawn, we have narrowed the hunt for hotels down to two. How much is too much for a hotel room these days? (Courtyard Marriott wants $90/night for a brand-new King bedroom with breakfast.)
- Rob and Karean came by to show off their new Powerbook and I showed them how to use their iPods; they took us out to dinner at the Trolley Stop. Behind the bar there is a picture of the 2000 Memorial Day Parade in Catonsville, featuring the front of our house.
- BG&E now believes us when we claim that the doctor no longer practices medicine in our house. (The guy looked at me like I was a child molester, though, when I showed him the old exam room.)
the bel-loc diner, towson md, 2.19.04
Y’know, all this talk of weddings and stress has sort of blinded me to something that’s been not-so-quietly happening out in California. I looked at this site and suddenly remembered that there are people who can’t get legally married here in America, and that our right as a heterosexual couple is something I take for granted. Go take a look.
Dissapointingly, most of the WMA -> MP3 converters I’ve tried thus far make files with the fidelity of a drunken brass band underwater. Which is a shame, because I’ve suddenly got a reason to use one.
All Quiet. Much like Todd’s post yesterday, work has been pretty dull lately. So I’ve been enjoying the workbench project at the house this past week. As of this morning the frame is set up and leveled off (not an easy task in an 80-year-old basement) to the back wall under the stairs; I have to finish the top of the bench and put in the bottom shelf, then rip the old Bell Systems switchbox off the back wall and rewire the local outlet to supply power to the lights (there will be lights under the cabinet and over top of it—no more fumbling around in the dark for tools I can’t find.)
Meanwhile, this weekend I’m going to attempt to make some progress in the Office upstairs. First up is removal of the kickplates, then pulling down the drop ceiling to see what the rest of the plaster looks like (shudder.) Then, gently pulling the plaster away from the floorboards and running yet more wire. We also have a Saturday appointment with the priest who will be officiating our wedding—you know you’re in good hands when the Father tells you to knock twice on the back door of the rectory and ask for “Louie”. We went to his service last Sunday, and he is the spitting image of my Uncle Dave, from the white hair to the ruddy Irish complexion, which will make the service that much better.
Hopefully Jen and I will be able to get away on Sunday for a day of non-wedding fun in DC; we had plans to hit a museum on the Mall last weekend but didn’t make it before the weather turned cold. I’m really looking forward to a day alone with her.
I got a freelence check for a whopping $75 the other day, which paid for a USB interface and two adjustable lamp controllers to test out a home automation system. The Indigo software is beautiful and intuitive (30-day trial download), and I’m excited to set up something that will make our huge dark house look like somebody actually lives there.
purties for my sweetie, 2.13.04
In honor of Valentines Day, NPR did a report last night on couples who get cold feet at the altar and call off weddings; I the report cheerfully mentioned that roughly 20% of Catholic couples who make it through pre-counseling sessions call off the wedding, and the majority of weddings are cancelled by the groom (90%). Buoyed by these facts, Jen and I went to our second pre-cana meeting with our sponsor couple. The church seems to dig on its tests, because we took about seventeen of them last night. When I say tests, what I really mean are sheets of paper with lots of questions and a general 5-answer selection, from “Always” to “Never”, and you’re supposed to mark in your little square and then compare notes. There’s some validity in these tests, but also some voodoo science which sort of feels like you’re doing a sex quiz in the back of Cosmo—in front of your neighbors. I know that these tests are really to promote private discussion and conversation about all the crap a couple may not have talked about before (e.g., “What do you mean, you have a gambling problem?!” or “I never knew you thought I was spending too much time with my mother!”) but I have to wonder how some couples, who may have buried these revelations in a deep, black pit of denial, are equipped to talk about them after two hours of light conversation and a few Entenmann’s doughnuts?
The good news is that we passed our Catholic SAT’s, which means we can get into heaven on a scholarship.
Thanks to the Rockhaus, here’s a Thursday Three:
1. Have you ever had a great Valentine’s Day?
Yes. I’ve had a few, even though I dislike corporate holidays as a rule.
2. Ever had a completely awful Valentine’s Day?
I’m almost positive, but I’ve blocked them all out. My therapist says I’m making progress though, so I don’t scream incomprehensibly and fling poo anymore when the subject comes up.
3. Best thing about Valentine’s Day?
When all the damn diamond commercials leave the airwaves on the 15th. You know the ones.
The Tortoise has been running on a suspended registration for longer than I care to admit. I got pulled over in front of the stupid Royal Farms on Fleet Street last year by a city cop who apologetically wrote me a ticket for a busted taillight, saying that the state poopers were cracking down on them. I got caught up in moving and so forgot all about the ticket until I realized that the sticker on my license plate was a month out of date. At this point, every time I got behind the wheel, I became Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, constantly searching over my shoulder for the cops on motorcycles to chase me over the hill firing guns. So this Saturday I got the work order inspected, and ventured down to the MVA this morning to get my new registration. I brought three books, figuring I’d be trapped in the usual Soviet-era queue hell, but surprisingly I was in and out in twenty minutes—the longest I waited was for a parking spot.
Thoughts on the Superbowl.
- Good frickin’ game.
- Who the hell is Puff Daddy and why is he famous?
- The commercials, which were hyped as much as the game, were mediocre.
- No, seriously. Puff Daddy? My Dad could rap better than that guy. And who the hell is ‘Nelly’?
- Adam Viniateri is breathing a huge sigh of relief this morning.
- Jen’s brother Rob called me right after the halftime show to ask me if I had also seen Janet Jackson’s boob pop out. Unfortunately I was washing a bowl at that time, so I missed it.
- The Panthers, who I was not rooting for, played a hell of a game.
A. Looks like our basement flooded last night; Jen just called me to let me know. There’s a set of stairs down to the basement door, ending in a little concrete pit with a drain at the center. Water runs down the side of the house and into this pit. The drain is clogged with crap (and I have no idea where it drains to anyway), so the incoming water came under the door and across the basement floor. Looks like it’s not too bad, but that’s a pain in the butt. B. Along with that fun, we lost power again last night at about 10:30. As old pros at this stuff now, we lit the Dietz lamps again and laid down to read. It came back on at 9:30 this morning as we were climbing into the shower. C. I found myself scratching a particular spot on my hand last night, and thought that was odd. On further inspection, it seems I’ve got some poison ivy happening on both hands. Now, for most people, this isn’t a big deal, but for me, it’s like trying to rid yourself of the hair on your scalp—it just keeps growing back. I’ve doused it with calamine and I’m ignoring the millions of other itchy spots that have popped up now that I’m paranoid about the stuff spreading; if I don’t shake your hand you’ll know why.
Right the hell on. Brought to you by Senator Max Cleland.
Nominees for the Moist category:
- Antonio Banderas – Lis (sorry, can’t find the Helmut Newton pic you speak of)
- Jake Busey – Lis
- David Copperfield – John P.
- The late Doug Henning – Mine. (you can’t have Copperfield without Henning.)
My personal take on Jake Busey is that he’s sort of a jerk/jock hybrid (loved you in Starship Troopers, babe); Todd says he’s more of a residually famous person, like the Baldwin brothers. David Copperfield is immediately in the running based on Jazz Hands alone, and Doug Henning—what else can you say about a Canadian in legwarmers, a leotard, long hair, and that dopey smile?
nash rambler, 6.28.03
I boxed up a ton of stuff last night; my entire living room, front bedroom, office and dining room are packed, stacked, and ready to go. There are no pictures on my walls, there’s nothing on the shelves, or blankets on the front bed. It’s beginning to hit me finally.
Here’s the list for the rest of the week:
- Break down both tables and prepare for transport.
- Move all boxes and containers from basement to dining room.
- Move all boxes and containers from front bedroom.
- Break down front bed, dispose of (anybody need a 20-year-old Queen mattress for cheap? Free Hollywood frame!)
- Break down futon in basement and move upstairs
- Buy some more Rubbermaid bins for bedding, clothes, computer gear.
The objective here is to not pack anything I need in the next two months, and to get stuff moved in where we can get to it if we need to. Luckily, there’s a whole empty area in the front of the house where we can store everything while we clean, paint, sand, and restore.
Thanks go to Todd and Heather for lending us their wedding archives; they did a ton of legwork for their wedding and gave us the information they collected in a binder. We started really considering what we’re going to attack first, and made a preliminary guest list. One realization: When we start adding extended families, we wind up with a LOT of people.