Shamrock Count

At last count, the wife, who I refer to as Shamus McSquanto, has found no less than six four-leaf clovers since the grass started to grow. And yesterday she found one with six leaves. I have the proof all over the house, in various stages of drying out into unrecognizable husks of vegetation. (After you pass about 15, the thought of saving all of them for good luck starts to sound like work...)

Shadow of the Internet

As I've mentioned before, on my first date ever, I watched the original silent movie version of Nosferatu. You know, to try and get the girl "in the mood." (I know in retrospect that this is like taking a girl to a combo Star Trek/Doctor Who/Comic Book Convention dressed as Yoda and expecting to get laid.)

Now, it turns out, that any geek can watch Nosferatu with their date, because the entire film is now free for download on the Web at the Internet Archive. The copyright has expired, and thus it is available to all.

So make some popcorn, sit down with your date, pull up the laptop and your video playback software, and enjoy...but don't expect to get to get past first base, nerd.

(Oh, when you're done, go rent Shadow of the Vampire, a rocking good flick that tells a fictional version of the filming of Nosferatu depicting the lead actor as an actually vampire, expertly played by Willem Defoe.)

Feeling Mouldy

The floor continues to permeate all the extra bandwidth in my head.

I determined that the floor moulding we took off would not work with the new wood floor. Beyond being just marred and cracked and broken, it's not wide enough to cover up the flaws on the edges. So, we found some perfectly sized stuff, 1x4 inch pine boards (which, in actuality, measure ¾ x 3 ¾, due to the cocked-up rules of the lumber industry that state "Nothing should be exact.")

On Tuesday I drove out to Hornell so I could bring back my dad's table router, so we could route a fancy grove into the top of the pine. Amazingly, some of the router bits available at Home Depot cost almost as much as the cheap-o table saw I bought last week at Sears. We went with a $15 bit that looked just fine, however.

Then we spent three days staining/urethaning the boards with a combo stain/urethane that I will never use again. I should have stained them separately, which always looks better. Still, these boards came out okay. A little on the light side, but better than the red that was in here before.

This morning, I started cutting boards. It's already apparent I'll need to buy more, because I apparently have a brain freeze when it comes to cutting mitered corners, and tend to cut them in exactly the wrong direction every time. Very annoying to find that out when you bring in the eight foot length of wood you thought you had so exact. So far, all the boards for the dining room are cut, but I haven't nailed them in... that seems like a big step.

Hopefully, this will be my last post about the floor, as I'm as sick of the project now as anyone could be. Unless I put a nail through my hand with the pneumatic power nailer... that might be worth mentioning.

Darth Squanto, Dark Wife of the Sith

The wife and I are walking through our city's fancy new Wal-Mart on Monday, completely lost since the place shares no layout consistency with any other Wal-Mart in the Union. We're trying to find vacuums.

We are passing by the toys section when a father walks toward us with his two kids. Each boy is wielding a toy light saber, prepared to take on any bad guys in their way.

The youngest is obviously high on the Choco-Frosted Sugar Bombs cereal and waving his plastic sword around like he's gutting gundarks. And he's coming dangerously close to us.

I'm a little ahead, stepping out of the way of the padawan, and I hear Bonny say "Look out, honey," but not to me, to the kid, and I glance back just in time to see the boy swing his saber in a slashing motion right to left -- and smack Bon's hand, hard.

She says, "Ow!!" and starts wringing her fingers. I can't believe she didn't add, "You little shit, that hurt! I should eviscerate you!" Somehow, she stayed calm.

Luckily, the father was there and even if he didn't see the swing, he knew what happened from the crunch of plastic against meta-carpals. He forced the kid to apologize with a barely audible "sorry," which Bon accepted.

It was one of those obvious points in a kids life where they know they've done wrong but are so in their own head that they desperately want to get back to doing that same wrong again—the real-world of apologies and bodily harm to others comes second to the imagined of fighting Sith Lords and clones and killing Jar-Jar Binks.

The Floor Finale

Kernel of Love

The following conversation took place Saturday night in our bathroom, as we prepared for bed after a very long, hot day of installing wood flooring...

Bon: I'm going to take a shower.

Me: Not me, I'll take one in the morning.

Bon: Ew, you're going to bed like that, all sweaty and salty?

Me: The sweat has dried, so I'm just salty. Besides, you love salt. You put lots of it on your popcorn.

Bon: So?

ME: Just think of me as your "kernel of love," baby.

Bon: [Laughs in my face.]

Live Blogging the GBSP™, Part Whatever

Ugh. Ouch. Christ.

So, it's done. There's glitches -- there's always glitches -- but the floor is done. There was little blood shed (I think I sustained the only injury of a cut hand, tho splinters were unsuprisingly abundant). Most knees are in need of help, but I bought some extra cheap-o pads at Target this morning after passing up paying 30 bucks for sets at four stores yesterday.

It's that frugality that screwed up almost the entire project. The wood we purchased -- called "mill run" -- ended up being filled with crappy pieces. Terrible knots all the way through with rough patches, scratches, and some just ragged all the way around. All told, she probably pulled out 60 square feet of wood we couldn't use. Now what do I do with all that? Make a chair pad in the basement, sure. That'll still leave plenty.

Forgot to hook up the TiVo until about 8:40 so we missed most of the first half of Survivor: Palau (Katie gets final two? that's a crock), but luckily not Desperate Housewives.

Right now we're sitting here on the new floor and watching and I'm making a list of all the stuff that still needs to be done...

1. Go to the dump and get rid of the scrap wood and cardboard it came in.
   
2. Return the pneumatic stapler we used to install it and bitch about the quality of the wood.
   
3. Buy lots of moulding. Hopefully wider than half inch since we have some ragged edges... do the pros?
   
4. Put away all the damn tools taking up space on the dining room table. Which is in the kitchen.
   

Etc. There's plenty more, but it's boring and will likely take up the hefty bulk of tomorrow, which I'm taking off, otherwise I doubt we'll get things livable anytime soon.

Live Blogging the GBSP, Part IV

Stress hits after lunch (at least for me... eating KFC Extra Crispy doesn't help. But it's what Paul wanted.)

Because of my wife's perfectionist streak, she's culled probably 60 square feet of wood out as not worthy, too knotty, filled with holes, too scrapped up, etc. Which would be fine, but I only bought about 50 sq ft of extra. We're looking at coming up short and it's got me anxious...

Live Blogging the GBSP™, Part III

Breaktime, We've congregated on the back deck after the heated debate about whether to remove the tile "pad" in front of the fireplace after we found out that it was not attached. Paul advocated removal, I fought it half heartedly, on the fence, Mom was I think with me, Dad abstained, and luckily, the wife, the flooring master we (well, I) call Squanto, finally said, take it out of there. So we did. Now it may become some kind of tile table top to use for planting on the back deck.

Live Blogging the GBSP™, part II

Live Blogging the GBSP™

Mom and I are out on the back deck eating bagels. We're the only two up. Yesterday was a full 11 hours straight of installing hardwood... go the dining room and the hallway done. More after buttery goodness...

Heat Rises

I swear I'm having hotflashes.

Last night, I think I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but it didn't stick. By 1am I was up and tossing and turning and adjusting the window fan and the ceiling fan, trying to cool off. It was hot as hell and not helped by having a down comforter over me.

I ended up getting up and reading blogs, and checking the TiVo to make sure all the season finale episodes of the next couple of weeks are ready to tape, and read some comics and just about frost-bit my toes... the basement was easily 20 degrees F cooler than the bedroom.

Back upstairs by 3am, I found the hallway sweltering... but in the bedroom, I found the wife pulling the fan out of the window. Temp in the room was now very cool. Comfortable for sleeping.

But back under the down comforter, my feet were unable to thaw and I spent at least another half hour trying to warm them, while my torso would sweat, and my head felt the chill breeze from the window I left open in the bathroom.

Audio vs. Reading

You know what doesn't really work? Trying to read a book at the same time as you're listening to the audiobook version. Not like, following along, like you used to in Social Studies when the teacher decided he was tired and made some kid read a passage while everyone else had to read along, as if that was teaching. No, I'm talking about when you listen to some in the car, then go to read the book in bed, then listen to more on the lawnmower the next day, and read some on the crapper after. It's especially hard realizing that the frickin' audiobook is an abridged version when you're 200 pages (or five hours) in...

Opening Up

A day spent preparing for, thinking about, and shopping for the GBSP™ means I not only missed the local book sale (which I don't really need to go to, still having books from to read from last summer's sale), but also Free Comic Book Day (which, honestly, I don't need any free comics to not read either).

But the work for the day is done, and I'm sitting at Maui the laptop encrusted in the sweat-salt of earlier in the day with disheveled hair that looks like what would happen to Paulie Walnuts on The Sopranos if he were to stick his tongue in a wall socket.

When not thinking about the hardwood floor installation to commence one week hence, I'm (of course) thinking about writing. Maybe moreso today, I'm thinking about writing collaboration. This morning, while still cuddling in bed before facing the carpet remotion to come, the wife (whom I call Shamrock McSquanto!) told me about a dream she had. She decided that it was a story I should write.

Really, what she'd told me of her dream wasn't a story, it was more of a premise... no plot, no theme, no characters. It seemed interesting in that abstract way dreams of others can be, but I felt removed from it—it wasn't my dream, I hadn't lived it in my head.

But what was interesting was, over bagels on the back deck, we talked about it more, and extrapolated it into... something. Something that intrigues me, that is now settling into the shelf in the back of my head to percolate and mutate. Or maybe it could do more if we continue to talk about it.

Writing has for me become about as solitary as it gets. I'm hesitant to the point of paranoia to show anything I've written to anyone, especially Squanto herself, as she's a picture-straightening perfectionist with training as a copy editor and lots of freelance writing experience. She's the first t say she can't write fiction (which I don't believe), but she has very specific ideas of what she thinks works in a story which I know just from how we see things differently in films or TV. We're more on the same page than not, but still, she'd be my first set of eyes on anything and her reaction will be paramount in my mind.

A blog I read, Ink Slinger, did a post recently about the phenomenon of wife's as editors, and had this to say:

ADVICE FOR THE ASPIRING WRITER
Tip #1 - Get yourself a spouse who is smarter than you, and who is secure enough to hurt your feelings.

I've got that. I'm all set!

Working through the idea stemming from her dream, turning it into something that could be a story, seeing the hesitant frayed edges of a plot in it (though still sans characters) was almost electrifying for me.

Last time I collaborated with someone on writing, if you don't count my stealing stories from my brother the copy was on a spec script for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine with my friend Dave. He was in Virginia, I was in NYC, and we would send files back and forth until we had something done that actually got read by an agent. Something I'm proud of in a foolish way, since it didn't lead to anything.

I remember a night in college on the phone with my friend Brett, telling him about something I was writing. It wasn't even so much collaboration as me just going on forever about something, with him making occasional noises to the affirmative or negative. There's something to be said for the human sounding board.

So perhaps its time to start spewing forth some of my current work, my short story (Ripped from Today's Headlines!—that's not a title, just the truth) and my novel(s?) in progress, and more about that dream, with my in house editor. Though I'm not posting squat here until something is done, because someone will rip off the ideas and get rich on it and I'll then give it all up to become a full-time hardwood floor installer.

The Sound of Music

I was singing good-bye to the carpet in the living room this morning, to the tune of a song from The Sound of Music, and the wife wanted me to post this lyric...

So Long, Farwell,
Auf Wiedersehen, Adeiu.
We hate carpet,
We'd rather sleep in poo.

Ode to Appliances

I've bought some major household appliances in my day. I'm on my second washer and dryer pair (go with a front loader on the washer by the way -- they can hold a lot more). I've only ever bought one refrigerator since my second and current house came with the fridge intact -- and I liked them, both side-by-side models, better than my original. Only bought one stove too, and it was a glass top and gorgeous and I only used it for six months before it got sold along with my original house. I should have scratched it.

But no appliance in my life time has put in more time than the trash compactor my parents own. They've had it for a minimum of 25 years... I was in the 5th grade before I realized other families in America don't actually crush their own garbage.

And the thing is disgusting. As you can imagine, something that does nothing but deal with garbage for decades doesn't escape unscathed.

My brother called me last week and didn't even say hello when I picked-up, he just said, "You're not going to believe this -- Dad says it might be time to give up the trash compactor."

I said Hallelujah -- the thing should have been retired years ago. Even if it does save you money on trash bags, it's not worth it.

. When I confronted my dad, asking him if this was true, he just laughed. Then he asked me if I wanted it. I told him I've got a trash compactor -- it's the rubber tread on my Nike's. But I have my doubts the thing is going anywhere. If it does, hopefully there will be photographic documentation

I Am Floored

Griffith Big Summer Project (GBSP™) is in full swing now, as evidenced by the 24 hour period (2pm Saturday to 2pm Sunday, with sleep in there somewhere) that the wife and I spent pulling off molding and pulling up carpets, pads, tack strips, linoleum and staples from two rooms over the weekend.

Good times. Except for the sore muscles and scrapped knees and aching backs and nostrils filled with grime.

I was disturbed to find that my knees sweat (discovered after removing knee pads). Are there no areas of my body safe from my own moistness?

The problem with doing an incredibly thorough job on the dining room and hallway carpet demolition—all in preparation for installing 630 square feet of hard wood floor, if you haven't been paying attention—is that we had to come to a hard stop or keep going into the living room. The problem with that is, the living room is where to do most of our living. Our beloved TiVo lives there. Why did I schedule this project in the middle of May sweeps, for Christ's sake? Don't make me choose between watching LOST and installing hard wood floors...

Construction projects, of course, have a way of spinning out of financial control. The wood is purchased, all 680 square feet of it (we bought extra... we'll need it), but Saturday we easily spent another $100 buying little plastic feet to put on the bottom of furniture for later so the precious red oak won't be harmed. Turns out many of the items I was going to put feet on already have some. In a word: Argh.

That's just the beginning. We had to get carpet knives, bought a saw specific to cutting the bottom off of door jam molding, chalk line so we can mark where the floor support beams are, etc. I haven't even tackled buying the nails yet for the pneumatic floor nailer we have to rent to make it all permanent and not just a big removable puzzle to walk on.

Anyway, here's some pictures that prove just how gross the carpet was (and it was this bad when we moved in... dog vomit was just the icing on this cake of disgust) and how much work we put in (More photos at Flickr ).

A trip to the dump is in the offing, two more carpets to pull, a weekend of nailing... and then I probably have to buy myself a new table saw because we'll probably have to do all new floor molding, too.