| |
 |
 |
Tuesday, November 28, 2006 |
 |
|
Fools might disagree but I'm a stay Sucka Free
We're back from San Francisco, back to work and back to fixing up the house. The visit to the west coast wasn't exactly the restful respite I thought it would be. The folks had us running around the whole time when all we really wanted to do was relax and revel in not having to sand or paint anything for a week. Alas, it was not to be. My dad and his wife were decidedly manic the whole time, cooking and puttering around and basically leaving no moment uncommented for the duration. I know most of this was because they were so excited to have us visit, not to mention the enormous Thanksgiving dinner they hosted for us and a bunch of other people. But man, I could have used a couple of days off in there somewhere! Jeannie was reading an article about meth and read off the symptoms of a meth-head and I'll be damned if my folks weren't displaying a majority of the symptoms! They do work in the pharmaceutical industry ... The only day we were really left to our own devices turned out to be the day we went into San Francisco for the day. Once there, we started trudging all over the city and didn't stop for 6 hours. We stuck to the Lower Haight, Fillmore, the Castro, the Mission, Soma, and some unnamed areas along the way. I'm happy to report there are still some genuinely seedy spots in this tiny town. We ran into a cast of characters on Mission Street just below the highway that seemed to be auditioning for roles in New Jack City 2. We had planned to hang late into the night, but by 7 we were too tired and headed back to the Walnut Creek BART station. Consequently, I'm exhausted and trying to get over a rhinovirus I picked up in the East Bay. Even though I ostensibly had someone covering for me while I was out, I somehow have tons of crap to get through to pick up the slack. And that molding isn't painting itself, either. Ugh it's good to be home.
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
Tuesday, November 14, 2006 |
|
|
The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere
Get to know my new neighborhood by examining remnants of its history. Kevin Walsh's Forgotten New York site has been on my bookmark list since I moved here. It's a testament to his range that he has several articles about the non-trendy parts of Bushwick that I now call home. Turns out my corner displays one of the oldest wall ads in the whole city! Actually, when I go home tonight I'm gonna have to look for this, cuz honestly I never noticed it before. Hey, I'm new, cut me some slack. Other Good bits:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Monday, November 13, 2006 |
|
|
I didn't even have to use my AK
 beforeMy sanding arm is all wore out. We were trying to figure out why we thought painting was 'fun' and realized it was mostly due to the contrast of the horrors of the sanding and surface preparation that comes before the painting. Still, painting is somewhat satisfying as it continues to cover up the annoying orange paint that covers ever foot of molding in the house. We had thought we'd strip the paint down to the actual wood, but in most cases the layers of paint so plentiful, the time involved so enormous, we decided to do what countless previous generations in this house chose to do: paint over it. I figure, once we win the lottery we'll have enough dough to really fix things up, but for the time being we're just gonna paint everything white until we can think of something better to do.  Here's a fun thing to do on a Saturday night: try to reassemble an old doorknob set on your back door in partial darkness while a gang war goes onone street over. Oaky, not a gang war, but there was a "disagreement." For reasons still unknown to me, I could not get the damn latch to separate from the exterior doorknob. Across the back yards, a bunch of guys were having some stupid argument that went on for a loooong time. Eventually it died down, and the crowd seemed to disappear. A few minutes later, somebody fired a gun six times. All the while of course, I'm still out back, trying to get the friggin doorknob to work. My theory is that the most aggrieved party in the argument went home for his gat, and when he came back to an empty street he wanted the neighbors to have the necessary closure, thus the dramatic gunshots that ended the evening. The epilogue: I finally pried the latch out, completely destroying it in the process. But we didn't get shot, which kind of puts home improvements into perspective.
after
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tuesday, November 07, 2006 |
|
|
Put a shadow cross the window when the old man comes around
So Friday night we finally make a point of going out on the town. Our friend's band was playing a show at Cake Shop, one of the only worthwhile venues left in the East Village/LES. Due to my foggy brain, I didn't quite make the connection, but this was indeed a CMJ performance. There are times when I think CMJ is a good thing, it helps bands reach wider audiences, some even get the all-important Record Deal. But after 5 seconds in the band room, I took it all back: CMJ still sucks. The room was packed even though it was still relatively early. I know it's not a big club, but most of the shows I attend there don't fill the place up quite in this way. It would be one thing if the room was packed with the band's most ardent fans, all locked in on the music radiating from the back corner of the room. That might be okay. But who were these people? Everybody seemed to be there solely to push their way to the front, then push their way to the back, making sure to spill beer and talk on their cellphones while doing so. Those who weren't burrowing in out of the throng were babbling at each other. Why do they want to do this in such a small space? The Cake Shop has an upper floor (which, okay, was also crowded). But at least move to the back if you're not even interested in the music. I think it's good that every band in CMJ gets all-access passes to go to pretty much any other show going on that week, but maybe people should have to work at it a little harder. I didn't even bother getting a drink while we were there; I knew I wouldn't want to hang around any longer than the set lasted. When it was over, we went to the only bar in the area we could think of that wouldn't be overrun, the former Meow Mix bar, Vasmay. This bar has been pretty reliable for a while, it's never super crowded and it has a good jukebox. But recently they installed a new sound system and now the jukebox is deafeningly loud. Jeannie put her earplugs in just to bear sitting there, and I spied at least one other guy with earplugs in against the din. I would have paid any price for whiskey at that point, but the prices seemed to vary from 5 to 8 bucks depending on the bartenders whim. 8 dollars for a whiskey! Thank god I don't go out much. So I guess this is how it begins, my turning into a grumpy ol' coot. I guess I should have known better about the CMJ show, and I've been to Vasmay before since they installed the Ear-Bleeder Stereo System, so I guess I have no excuse. Now I think we should have gone to the Parkside Lounge, that's usually safe, if a bit of a haul from Ludlow Street. But now I'm almost afraid to go there, for fear it too has become uninhabitable.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Friday, November 03, 2006 |
|
|
There's something down there
The asbestos is gone and now it's primer time. We've got to prepare all the ugly orange moldings throughout the house and obscure them with heavy white paint. I really wanted to strip the paint and stain the moldings but preliminary stripping revealed at least 4 previous layers of paint; this is pretty much on every inch of molding on every door jamb, on every window, in every room of the house. I have neither the time, nor the inclination (ever notice how people who don't have the time rarely have the inclination, too?) to put that much work into restoring these moldings. Some appear to be fairly ornate, original pieces, but it's still not worth it to me now. After I win the lottery I'll be able to afford to have all these things ripped out of the house and sent off to a stripping facility somewhere. In the meantime, what's another couple of coats of paint? So last night while Jeannie was inspecting the asbestos-free basement, she found something odd: a cat. This shouldn't be odd, since we have more cats than people in this house, but this cat wasn't ours. A stray cat somehow got inside and was apparently hoping no one would notice the addition. All I can think of is that during the asbestos removal, the cat ran in through the open cellar doors and hid behind some boxes until the guys left.  We returned the cat to the wild, but not before she gobbled most of the cat food. I fear this means the cat will never stop hanging around, but so far it hasn't returned. I always suspect these cats have a round of places they hit up for chow. Like that old cartoon with the bulldog who pimps out that cat ("This time, I didn't forget the gravy ...") Meanwhile, Freddie the Formerly Stray Cat is adjusting nicely to indoor life, but she still slinks around like a thief in the night. It's impossible to make a cat appreciate something like never having to worry about food or a roof over your head again. I guess children are similarly ungrateful. Here's something weird too: I don't have a photo of the stowaway cat, but I searched the web for a picture of a cat in a basement and found a cat that looks very similar, also a stray cat in a basement somewhere. It's happening all over the country!
|
|
|
|
|
|
Thursday, November 02, 2006 |
|
|
My pink half of the drain pipe
Right now some Irish guys are removing the asbestos pipe insulation from my basement. They also informed me that the ancient pebbled tile in much of the basement also contains the dreaded element. Apparently tile isn't as big a deal as the insulation but I'm having them remove it all just to be safe. Yes, this is the kind of exciting life you lead once you become a homeowner. I'm also sweating over whether or not an exhaust vent can be installed for a clothes dryer. I'm sure it's just a phase. I am however actually going out to a show tomorrow night. It's The Forms at Cake Shop. I guess it's a CMJ show. Man do I ever hate CMJ! Dress it up however you want, it's an A&R schmoozefest. Bleah. On the upside, Cake Shop is now a one-train destination for me, thanks to the ever-lovin' J train.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
|
|
