Got the Jimmy Legs

I can make it longer if you like the style

For a brief time I wrote band previews for the NY Press. Some of the articles appeared largely unretouched, but as time went on, I noticed they were really going through the wringer. Somebody was hacking my tiny blurbs, not to shorten so much as add nonsensical stuff to somehow jazz up my writing. I talked to the shmoe who was doing this and he blamed me for not writing "tight enough." Somehow, adding "Spraying the audience with vomit and cheese" to my write-up of the Ex-Models didn't seem to be tightening anything up, yet he had the final cut. Anyway we were both unceremoniously let go a couple months later.

I was reminded of this heady time in my life today as I read JoshB's latest article in the Press, concerning the reticence of his livery cab driver to take him to my adopted neighborhood of Bushwick Brooklyn. It's a pretty funny read, which I read previously on his own blog. Now, I don't know if his writing is subject to the same dubious knife of editorial re-education, but there are some amusing discrepancies. In describing our house and its occupants' desires, the Press article states

My friends wanted to buy an apartment in Park Slope, sure. Who wouldn’t? Historic brownstones, lush trees, schools without metal detectors. Yet their bank accounts would only let them buy in Bushwick, two minutes from the jackhammer-loud overhead train.

Oh, the indignity of it all! Like I would ever want, of all things, an apartment in Park Slope. I know, none of it matters, it's just filler for the real meat of the story. I just hope it was the work of some anonymous editor and not Mr B Himself. He knows better anyway; we lived for years on the same longitudinal path in Clinton Hill and Crown Heights, respectively (he's still there). Truth be known, I had wanted to buy in Clinton Hill, but even that neighborhood had priced us out long ago, not to mention it is getting progressively full of the kind of reprehensible people I used to think would never cross Flatbush Ave (let alone come into Brooklyn).

But I suppose in terms of dramatic illustration, establishing the dichotomy of The Slope and The 'Shwick makes for a palpably wide spectrum of experience. Still, none of you Slopers better come out here or, you know, we'll beat you with a bat. For an hour!

Oh God can't you keep it down

Soundproofing the Cellar, originally uploaded by Jimmy Legs.

Since I'm no good for regular blogging anymore, let's get back to house renovations. Actually, 'renovation' may be too strong a word for what we've been doing to this house. I always think of renovations in terms of totally ripping stuff out and putting in something totally new, like a bathroom or kitchen. In this case, I'm trying to soundproof a room in the cellar so the band can practice without making the neighbors throw bottles at our house (well, they already do that, so let's just say we'd like to limit the number of things flung houseward).

At some point in the past the basement was paneled and subdivided into a few small rooms. I took the two in the middle of the floor and removed the dividing wall (which, like all the paneled walls here were single-stud frames with paneling nailed to it). These walls will provide a base for the soundproofing to come, but it's the ceiling that has been taking up all my time lately.

Once upon a time, this ceiling was completely finished in acoustical tile. By the time we moved in, though, many of the tiles had fallen out, and those that had stayed put were water stained and hanging by a thread. There had been framing around the pipes running through the room, not to mention occasional framings that didn't seem to be concealing anything at all. This led to my theory that the whole cellar had been designed to thwart anybody over 5' 7", since as soon as you think you can stand up straight you inevitably smash your head on some box or something sticking meaninglessly out of the ceiling. In retrospect, the Fuck Tall People Party was kind to the long n' lanky set.

So I had to rip all this stuff out so I can put in a partially decoupled ceiling composed of a dual drywall layer separated by a visoelastic adhesive and sealed with acoustical caulk.* The walls will be simpler, just a dual layer comprised of plywood and drywall (plywood leftover from the floor refinishing). I had planned to rip the ceiling down to the joists to fill with insulation, but I just realized that above the tile level the topmost layer is already two layers of drywall nailed into the ceiling joists. In theory, this is a great start for sound isolation, but there's one big problem. Or, several big problems, it's full of holes.

Sound isolation (the more correct term for what I'm after) is all about sealing things off. No matter what materials are used, if things aren't securely separated, the soundproofing won't work. Two layers of drywall is great, but the gaping holes (from old light fixtures and BX cable) negate any good the drywall could do. At first I thought I'd just tear this stuff down, but upon reflection (too lazy) I've decided just to patch these holes really well and build onto them.

I patched all the small holes last night, and a few of the larger ones. Tonight I tackle the really big ones, for which I have to construct plugs to mount into the boards. The good thing about this work is that I don't have to be neat at all. As long as the seal is solid, it doesn't matter what it looks like since it'll be obscured by the next ceiling layers. When it's all done then, we'll have two discrete segments of doubled-up drywall and two distinct levels of trapped air as well (as long as it's contained, that air will actually help stop heavy bass tones from ruining someone else's enjoyment of Deal or No Deal upstairs).

*I'll explain this when I get the supplies in.

They've got nothing else to think of

My boss said I could leave early today because of the weather (which I think is actually her guilty conscience cuz she almost never comes into the office at all). But I can't because I'm taking a training that runs from 3-6PM. So that sucks. The likelihood of getting a real snow day is pretty slim at this point in my life. It's times like these I feel should rationalize my returning to telecommuting all the time ("I could work through any blizzard! And I will, too! Sure!") But I'm just about to pass the one-year mark as a real employee, so with my annual pay increase looming I guess I won't rock the boat right now. Plus I'm still not convinced I'm indispensable around here yet.

Anyway, this training is a breeze: it's a web-based teleconference so I can sit here and do the crossword while I'm learning a new content management system for the web site. Which of course I could do from home as well … damn. Now it's too late to get home before the training starts.

It's not that I'm sentimental, it's just that I'm terrified

Looks like Sylvie's here to stay. She and Buzz got hitched at the fabulous Brooklyn Municipal Building over the weekend and then had a reception at home. I took a few photos of the ceremony and forgot all about the camera until they got to the cake-cutting (which I also missed, I only got one odd pic of Buzz waving a cake spatula around).

This was the new house's first party, so far it seemed to weather the storm well. Despite the rain, the wedded couple made good on their promise to break a whole bunch of plates in the back yard. Apparently this is some sort of wedding tradition (gimme a wineglass carefully folded into a napkin, thank you). I don't have any photos of this, but I'm pretty sure somebody got some footage, so I'll link to it when it becomes available.

Ironically, our yard has already been the site of a similar celebration: before the party, I had to go out and sweep up a number of glass bottles that had been lobbed onto our property. I wasn't sure where the bottles came from or if our yard specifically was being targeted, but I hoped it was just mindless littering. But after the plate-throwing cacophony ended, just as the last people returned inside, a St. Ides bottle came out of the sky, landing squarely on the patio. I'm almost certain it came from the house next door, probably from the top floor. Now I'm not sure how to fight back, aside from leaving the broken crockery out there as a symbol that we really don't give a damn, but at some point I will want to spend time in that yard, and I don't wanna have to wear a helmet. I'm thinking of getting an air rifle, but perhaps that may just exacerbate the animosity. Wait till they get a load of band practice.

My aura smiles and never frowns

There's a Pay-O-Matic Check Cashing shop near my house (there's one in every fine neighborhood, don't you know). Is it just me, or does their logo remind anyone else of the old Mr Yuk logos people put on poison containers? When you see it out of the corner of your eye, it looks like this sour frowny face. It makes me feel sorry for the people who patronize the establishment. Then I realize if I had gone to Pay-O-Matic right when I got my deposit check back from my landlady, she wouldn't have been able to stop payment and proceed to take back two-thirds of said deposit for dubious 'repairs' to the apartment. Then I console myself that it was worth it just to never have to deal with her and her flaky behavior again. Then I realize I too am sporting a sour frowny face, just like the Pay-O-Matic logo. Then I play some Sudoku and forget all my problems.

Ah, Banterist has also noted the peculiar nature of the corporate logo.