Hee!

Every morning, the boy has been sending a new photo of his life in Cinci.

Today's photo was called "This Morning's Super Awesome Tie Knot!"

That makes me smile.

Still here.

Beware! I live!

Okay. Enough with the Sinistar references. The point is, I'm still alive, just really freaking busy and covered in paint. Literally. I've been scraping paint off my fingers and arms all night. The Boy has been down in Cinci, and I'm working on the house, as per The Plan.

I've also been nigh to gnawing off my own arms from stir-craziness and lack of social interaction. That's nobody's fault but mine, though. I could put down the paintbrush and call folks. However, actually leaving the house and doing anything is mostly out of the question, as the caddy is, for all intents and purposes, dead. At least currently. I'll find out just how permanent a death it is after I get money to take it to the shop.

I'm fortunate to have a madre-in-law who works a few short minutes from my house. Tomorrow I plan to abscond with her car during the day to gratuitously eat out, socialize with a sister, and putz around the bookstore. Sad that it seems so fresh and exciting. Ah well.

I'm getting an extraordinary amount of reading done at night.

Since Monday, I read Steven Brust's Brokedown Palace, which was pretty and sad in its way, but not all that remarkable. I can imagine it being really good the second time 'round someday. I'm currently in the middle of Douglas Coupland's Microserfs, and I find that though it's a book that revolves at least somewhat around computers, and it's ten years old, it still resonates-- even more so, maybe, because I have more inherent cultural nerdiness to draw from than I did when I first read it as a college student. I'm also older than most of the characters in the book now. That came as something of a shock. I recommend Microserfs for reading before breakfast or right before bed. The book is formatted as the journal of a young coder working at Microsoft. I find it hopeful, witty, calm, and interesting. One of the things the main character does to describe the people in his life is to think of what their seven ideal Jeopardy categories would be. It's such a neat (though by no means exhaustive) little encapsulation of a person. I adore lists like this. The book is full of them.

Perhaps my seven ideal Jeopardy categories would be:

1. underground christian music from the early nineties
2. urban legends & internet scammers
3. obscure unrelated facts about animals
4. webcomics
5. recognizing (but not necessarily being able to place) literary quotes.
6. graphic novels that don't have to do with superheroes
7. things to make with wire

That actually took more thought and energy than I'd anticipated. Tomorrow I might write that list completely differently.

Off the cuff, I think the Boy's seven ideal categories would be:

1. computers - programming and deciphering
2. a not-so-brief history of video games
3. obscure electronic music of the nineties
4. medieval history
5. the backwater of the internet
6. most effective chemical compounds for various stain removal
7. Usenet posts from 1991

Hmm. Seven is not enough, I find. I would also add a category called "Steph and her foibles," but that might come off as mushy.

What about you? What would your seven ideal jeopardy categories be?

A Farewell to (the Boy's) Arms

It's been quite a week, indeed. We've been thinking of and praying for various friends and relatives as they go through some spectacularly shitty times. We've spent pretty much every waking moment preparing for the realtor walkthrough before we list the house, and though that's been done, we still have a massive amount of painting to do to prep for putting the house on the market. It's been like Life has suspended lately. It's all we've been doing.

Tomorrow the Boy is heading down to Cincinnati, and tonight is the last night he'll live in this house (as in have all his stuff and clothes here and stay here mostly). Sad... Though he'll be coming back every weekend, we'll miss each other during the week. Realistically, it's probably better that he be able to start the new job without distraction, and I can concentrate on preparing and selling the house. Good thing we have free cell phone minutes between our phones, though. Also, it will be an opportunity to add mushy emails to my treasured "Mushy Emails From Boy" collection.

Bye, best friend. Thank goodness for phones and email.

A Strange Dust

Our house reminds me of Morrisey's song, Every Day is Like Sunday, only without the melodrama. Actually the only thing that really pertains is the not-so-fine layer of dust that's coating, oh...EVERYTHING downstairs, including my nose hairs, which are disturbingly white in the mirror.

Yes, Gentle Reader, we've been sanding spackle and drywall again. Our little random orbital sander kicks out an infuriating amount of dust, despite the fact that it has a bag that's supposed to catch that stuff. Ah well. The kitchen will be the better for it.

I'm not going to go into the seemingly endless saga of the renovation. Suffice to say, there are only a few things left to do, and my stomach will obediently unknot itself once they're done.
In the meantime, our kitchen is something like the equivalent of picking up a piece of poop and discovering that there's a diamond inside. It's so so so so so much better than it was. Sometimes we just stand in the door and look at it. Right before the latest flurry of sanding and dust, we actually cooked in it. Both of us. In the kitchen at ONCE. Cooking. With food on the actual counterspace we now have, and setting dishes in the actual, working sink we now have without being afraid of massive rust marks permanently staining them. All of these things were unheard of in our previous "kitchen." Once we're done painting, I will post before and afters.

I'm seriously thrilled about it. I may not be jumping for joy, because my muscles all over ache from all the frantic hefting, scraping, painting, sawing, nailing, shoveling, weeding, raking, etc. etc., but be assured that I'm jumping for joy on the inside. I also may not post again for a little while, because this week is the last before the Boy moves down to Cinci, and the last before our house goes on the market--ie, we must continue the crazy, no-sleep drive toward being ready for both those things. I've got so much to do here that I don't even care right now that my car is dead. I wouldn't be going anywhere anyway. I'm sure I'll care when this is over and I want to visit someone or need to do something not at home, but for now--whatevah. I have a new kitchen!

I sincerely apologize to people whose calls or emails I haven't returned. I will get in touch with you--promise! It might not be this week, though.

If you're feeling sinister

We're watching tv on mute for a few moments:

The eerily glowing, massive moth drifts through a carelessly open window. A woman is lying awake in bed, brow furrowed. The moth lands on her chest, and immediately her eyes drop closed, and her head slumps to one side.

Boy: Did that thing just steal her soul??

Nope. It's just a sinister Lunesta commercial. Look for it. The guy in the tent actually rolls his eyes up toward the back of his head before collapsing. Brrr.

We speculated that that's actually how the medication works. The Moth of Death steals your soul for the night, and the arch-villains at Lunesta use it temporarily toward their evil ends. In the morning, your soul is returned, and you wake up feeling refreshed, yet somehow...unsettled.

Or maybe not.

Must...maintain...girlish...looks!!

Here's the first installment of kitchy ads and articles from the 1950s magazine found under some flooring in our house. (click "all sizes" to view up close)

Stay tuned. Next up, a stunning expose' by the hired help of one of those damn commie reds: "Comrade on a Spree!" This article is kind of boggling.

Oh, and PS...

If any of you know folk in the Detroit area who would appreciate this kind of house, and the relative inexpensiveness compared to the rest of Oakland county, let me know okay?

As much as I adore this place, it will be a relief to get it sold.

PS. You can tell them it now has more kitchen counter space than most houses I've been in, even the ridiculously huge ones. You can tell them that 'cause it's the truth.

Things I adore that are not worth money.

Now that we're getting the house ready to sell, I've been thinking about the things I love that won't mean jack to the price of the house, and most likely, won't mean anything to the people who buy it. If I had my druthers, I'd want to sell to someone artistic and respectful of the era of the house. I'm sure I won't have my druthers, but it's nice to dream. Here's a list of things that will never be printed in the brochure or listed as amenities:

1. During the day in summer, the back balcony is up in a room with walls of trees. Though we're in a neighborhood, I feel secluded. The late afternoon sun up there makes me warm and sleepy. During the night, we sit out there and pick out constellations. It's generally really quiet, and the wind makes the most calming rushing sound through the leaves. Near the Fourth of July, it's not so quiet (!) and you can see multiple fireworks displays all around the area from the balcony.

sunset from the balcony

2. In the very end of the back yard is a place where the trees overhang our yard, and under it is sometimes like sitting near a pool because of all the swaying mottled shadows and bits of light makes.

3. There is a sparrow couple who live on a beam above the back porch. They moved in soon after we bought the place, and in the winter, if you turn around and stand on tip toes at the door, you can see their little feathered bodies all fluffed out, keeping warm together.

4. When we make a fire in the fireplace, the light of it makes a path across the wood floor in front of it, and reflects upward, onto the ceiling.

5. I love the little alcove with the leaded glass window in our study. 'Nuff said.

6. I love the arches in the living room. I love that they're not plain round arches, but that they have little casbah tops.

7. This definitely isn't a selling point, but I love the creaking of our stairs when someone walks on them. I gotten so I can listen and tell which cat is coming up or down, and I know where the Boy is in the house--I just like it. It's a comfortable and comforting sound.

8. I like the handmade tile over our fireplace. We convinced a tile place near here to sell us a sample board of handmade tile that a local artist no longer makes. Sadly, I installed it really well, so it can't come with us. Like many other things here, it has a story, and I find myself hoping the next owners will care, but knowing realistically, I should forget about that.

I'm going to quit. It's making me a bit sad. I know we'll find another amazing place, though. Cincinnati's just full of interesting houses filled with stories of their own.

Awkward poses! Confusing dialogue! It must be "Mary Worth!"

Sorry, but huh?? The comic strip Mary Worth has always been a headscratcher for me. I've always been interested in comics. I used to read "the funnies" voraciously when I was little, and though I even managed to read (notice I didn't say enjoy) Dagwood, I always avoided the bizarre newspaper soap opera that is MW.

Maybe it was the yawn inducing blandness of the story. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of the art, with people's mouths randomly hanging open, and entirely unnecessary hands lurking in the frame like lost birds. It also could have been the stilted, unnatural dialogue, I suppose. Nobody in Mary Worth really looks like a real person, and certainly no one talks like one. Below, Captain Kangaroo offers Aunt Bea's evil twin a little help with the groceries.

Amazingly, Mary Worth has been in newspapers since the 1930s. I've known of its exisitence since I was little, I suppose, but it wasn't until just a couple hours ago that I came to appreciate just how creepy and entertaining this comic could be. The reason for my enlightenment was this.

The link goes to a little film series on Zerotv that recreates to the tee about a month's worth of Mary Worth strips. Seeing the scenes recreated and voiced by real people underscores how freakish the strip actually can be. Prepare to be confounded yet inexplicably riveted.

Like Phoenix from the ashes... oh, wait.

I'm speaking of our kitchen, and that phrase would imply that at one time, it was beautiful and grand. But sadly, it never has been either of those things. Tiny, cramped and with a silly/disgusting floor? YES! Beautiful and grand? N-O!

Howeeeever, things are looking up for our ugly duckling of a kitchen. First, out came the frightening cabinets, 2 of which I had never opened for fear of what might be inside. Then, out came a bazillion layers of weird and/or ugly floors, along with that magazine from a couple posts ago (I will be scanning bits of it and posting those as soon as the printer/scanner is unburied). Then the new Ikea cabinets went in, and this morning the floors were refinished. And the floor is now Glorious. I meant to capitalize that. Seriously, in the space of about 3 hours, the floor went from being cruddy grey paper wads with nails sticking out of it, to a luminous golden wood. That was the original floor that was under all the crap.

The crap.

What was under the crap.

Whee!

You'll have to excuse me if I'm a bit giddy. We've been up till the way-too-late hours of the morning hefting things around, scraping, patching, sanding and painting all over the house--then waking up early to let in contractors and such. I've been boxing up clutter and/or giving stuff away, which is something I should have done ages ago, whether we were moving or not.

This is why I like Freecycle. You can get stuff out of your hair, and people who actually want it can have it. Plus, they come pick it up, which is a good bonus. Check to see if there's a freecycle in your town!

Crikey.... (sad voice)

RIP, Mister Crocodile Hunter.

Steve Irwin was killed by a stingray this morning while filming a show for Animal Planet called "The Ocean's Deadliest Creatures." Apparently in a freak accident, a stingray barb punctured his chest, and possibly his heart.

Although I thought Irwin was blusteringly foolhardy at times, he had a good heart, knew his business, and was really darn entertaining while teaching millions of people about wildlife. I have to give him much credit for the good he's done both envionmentally and educationally.

It's kind of amazing--people have already edited the Irwin Wikipedia entry extensively in the 2 hours the news has been out. I've been watching it change over and over as more information is known. People really loved this guy, and are affected by his death. Even among the most jaded of us have to admit the man was an institution.

It's sad he couldn't have died in his sleep of old age someday, but are any of us really surprised? I think he would have been a little disappointed.

Update

As they were ripping up strata of various horrendous layers of flooring in the kitchen, the guys came across a 1954 magazine stuffed, in its entirety, beneath a "tasteful" green and gold vinyl faux tile layer. How odd. I'll write more about it later if there's anything interesting when I've had a chance to look at it. I suspect it was the same person that hid an entire 1945 issue of the Pontiac News in the cover of the fold-down ironing board. I decoupaged it onto the inside of a closet door.

Another thing that revealed itself in the kitchen was a hole in the original wood floor that was corked with...well, a cork. It's a cork from an old wine bottle. I have no idea what the hole was for.

One more paper item we found soon after we moved in was a map of Vietnam torn from a newspaper in 1962, and tacked inside a closet door. The headline reads "Where Our Boys Are."