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Do Clothes Make the Man?
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Apr 17, 2011 12:41 pm
411 Views
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Take a look at this small tree, a weeping cherry:
Planted late last summer, the tree has had precious little time to even root in. Yet, it bears blossoms. It's small, scraggly, and certainly not prominent in any manner. But is it any less of value? Regardless of how the weeping cherry tree grows, it will have its own unique character. What will it become tomorrow?
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I Can't Reply Right Now, I'm Busy Ignoring Your Email
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Apr 13, 2011 7:41 am
410 Views
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 Well hello there, umm, Mr Brown Shoes! How about that local sports team?
Now that you've read my non-descriptive opener line, I'll do my typical brain dump. Feel free to depart the train early as there's nothing new here.
Okay, so there I am for what seems like the ten thousandth and fifty sixth time sending out an ice breaker message to an interesting girl I discovered on a dating site. I know better but I keep banging me head against that brick wall because attempting to find a date (or GF in this case) is sort of like doing cocaine, you just can't walk away from it all that easily. For that matter, my heads still smarting from the last head-on charge I made against the dating wall of shame but hey, it's going to be different this time, right? Right? Why do I hear crickets suddenly?
So I compose what I hope is a message with a bit of substance. I bring up several points she wrote about in her profile and add a few thoughts of my own to show I've done my homework so to speak. I finish the message off with a question to open the door for communication. After all, asking a question is an invitation to start a conversation, at least that's my opinion. I press the send button and begin the waiting game.
The majority of the time, the messages go into the ether never to see the light of day again. Nothing unusual in that as it's not unreasonable to eat static after sending a first (and last) message. After all, receiving an unsolicited message could be compared to opening your front door only to see a salesperson hawking the latest knives from Slashco.
But when I do receive a reply, I usually wish I hadn't. Why? Frustration, that's why. When the typical reply goes something like this: “Nice to meet you. Have a nice day.”, it's a bit, well, I just don't have the words to describe how it feels. How the hell do I respond to something like that? Saying “You too.” really isn't of value and isn't going to trigger any deeper conversation. As a rhetorical question I would say, why did they even reply? No answer required of course because only the Shadow and the writer's of said messages truly know. And they aren't about to divulge that tidbit – at least not to the likes of me. Sigh!
Sure, sure, one or two people are probably contemplating: “He's just thinking sour grapes”, “Just take it in stride dude as there's not much you can do about it.”, or “You ain't no different than anyone else. Suck it up and deal with it.” Maybe so, but there's nothing wrong with occasionally venting what you feel. No joy in Mudville tonight. Back to my Temple of Doom. At least that pain has a purpose.
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I was a Middle-Aged Zombie
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Apr 7, 2011 11:49 pm
480 Views
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Remember the old “I was a Teenage (fill-in-the-blank-monster)” movies? Well, I do because I'm middle-aged. Now, one might ask, where the heck is he going with this? I'll tell ya where – straight into the dumpster I call my mind. Deep down in all those numerous thoughts about scantly clad women, over-indulgent consumption of top notch food, and even a finished bath, a kid is hiding away. One that's been suppressed by self-appointed responsibility. “Oh wait,” you say, “but isn't responsibility a good thing?” Sure, responsibility in reasonable levels shows maturity and the ability to handle daily life in a healthy manner. But, when responsibility becomes the main focal point such that moments of fun dwindle and die away, well then, it's no longer living. That's where the zombie part comes in.
I recall having a conversation with a friend about such matters. Sometimes the questions raised start me thinking about difficult subjects to dive into as they target the core reasons behind my motivations. In this case, I began to realize while some bear crosses, others like myself, bear shields. That shield hides me from change and the associated fears that sometimes arise from change.
If I were to spell it out with my trusty ol' Speak-And-Spell (some of you might remember a Speak-And-Spell from one of my short stories), it would go something like this: Once upon a time, I recall having fun. I did things, I went places, I took chances. I asked girls out even though it inevitably ended with me being shot down in flames time and time again. I went to night clubs with my friends and came home stinking of cigarette smoke because of all the smokers in those days but I had some great stories as a result. And I even took classes at night to learn new things. Pen and Ink classes anyone?
But unfortunately, the key words I used in the previous paragraph were - I recall. Somewhere along the line, I slowly stopped doing things that put me out there in the eye of the hurricane we call society. I decided to take on a large financial responsibility because I believe it is the right thing to do. What's more, the most I do in regards to classes is think, “one of these days I'll take that film making cram session.” Yet I never quite get there. And last but not least, I've been doing the online dating scene for the last few years. One question I keep hearing is:
Lizzy Borden: “What do you do for fun?”
Dale: “Landscaping, remodeling, fixing stuff, ...”
Lizzy Borden: “No Badminton? No dancing? No axe for 40 whacks?”
Dale: “Ummm, well, umm, ya see, umm...”
Lizzy Borden: “Thanks but no thanks. Call me when you have a life.”
 Seems I've lost the meaning of that three letter word somewhere along the way. Come to think of it, I've lost the meaning of two key “three letter words” for that matter.  I'm a zombie. Neither dead nor alive, rather stale and stagnant. Looks like its' time for me to say “Damn you excessive behaviors! You're not going to rule me!” Time to face those fears, kick complacency out into the street and chase it to the nearest night class. Because when the end comes, does anyone truly want to face it as a zombie? Time for me to consult my Speak-And-Spell oracle for words of advice and it better not be any of that “Dial M for...” otherwise it's time for some reprogramming.
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MacGyver Returns
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Jan 2, 2011 9:41 pm
633 Views
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One thing that can be said about human beings is that we are resourceful creatures. When confronted with a problem, we puzzle with our puzzler until we either find a solution, or give up and tell everyone we could have solved the problem if we really wanted to.
It's about pride to some extent. When something blocks our way, we decide that wall is gonna come down no matter what. No problem is too big. We're not going to let some silly little problem beat us at the game. We'll come up with a solution even if we have to change the rules.
For those of you who've read my recent posts, you've heard me talking about my little expedition into the crawlspace, or the down-underverse as I like to call it. After yesterdays foray, I ended the day by discovering a number of issues the previous home owners created during their “hatchet job” remodeling. As I retired for the evening, I pondered on how I would go about attacking the issues at hand.
Waking periodically throughout the night, my brain occasionally came up with different ideas for approaching the problem. With the sub-floor beneath the existing tub needing attention, I recognized the fact that once I start the repairs, my shower will be out of commission for a number of days. The thought of using the kitchen sink to take sponge bathes simply doesn't appeal to me. What's more, keeping the floor dry while sponge bathing would be problematic. My brain attacked the problem indirectly as it usually does. My thoughts turned from how to fix the sub-floor and began to focus on how to obtain a shower. I could always purchase a gym membership for a month or two and use the facilities, but it would be a poor investment if I'm too busy with my job and the remodeling project to make use of the exercise equipment.
Then my brain happened upon another idea. I recalled seeing someone fabricate a temporary shower with a limited budget. The memory of purchasing a 20 gallon storage bin several years ago popped into my mind. Hmm, With a frame around it to hang shower curtains from, I could make a place to at least soap up and scrub down within. And if I placed it next to the kitchen sink, I might even be able to rig up a shower head to the faucet if I could find the right adapters. I thought to myself, “Sounds like a plan.” as I watched a home improvement series on the TV.
As morning arrived, I set about locating everything I needed. Roaming around in one of the local hardware stores, I began my search for the necessary parts. After several hours of looking around, I spotted a shower head that looked usable as it allowed turning off the water flow. And some PVC pipe along with a handful of Tee connectors and 90 degree elbows could probably be used to make a frame for a free standing shower-tub. A couple of cheap shower curtains and rings should fit over the PVC pipe. By the time I rounded up all the necessary parts, the sunlight was beginning to vanish.
Grabbing a PVC pipe cutter, I set about making the frame for my PVC shower stall. Taking a few measurements from the storage bin, I quickly cut up some pipe and fitted the pieces together. While the frame wouldn't withstand a typhoon, it proved it could hold up a couple of shower curtains. After spending a few minutes applying Teflon tape to some fittings, I hooked up the shower head to the kitchen sink. With the shower head attached to the faucet, I turned on the water pressure. A couple of leaks presented themselves but they were easy enough to seal. Tomorrow, I'll connect up a couple of short garden hoses to a cheap power drill operated water pump. This should allow me to pump the residual bath water out of the tub and back into the sink. I'll have to wait another day before I can give it a test run.
While it's nothing spectacular, I bet MacGyver would find some level of pride in my little contraption. While I'm not looking forward to using this contraption, at least I'll be able to keep clean even if it is awkward to use. One problem down, only a couple hundred more to go on the Sisyphean bathroom project. Oh, the joys of remodeling a bathroom!
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No Blunt-Nosed Scissors For You!
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Jan 1, 2011 8:22 pm
609 Views
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Remember when we were kids just starting out in school? In art class, we were given those pesky blunt-nosed scissors that couldn't cut anything. You know the ones, the functional equivalent to training wheels on a bike. It was something a kid couldn't wait to ditch. Scars be damned. Bikes were meant to have two wheels just like scissors were meant to be sharp. So you might be asking, what do blunt-nosed scissors have to do with remodeling? Everything as we shall soon see.
Phase three of the great Sisyphean bathroom remodel has just begun. Yes indeed! With the wall paper totally vanquished as of several weeks ago, phase one came to completion. The toilet become the next target for an upgrade. After some creative MacGyver style of thinking, phase two completed successfully with the toilet doing what toilets are intended to do - flushing properly. And with very little water usage I might add. So here comes phase three, preparing to replace the bath tub.
Now I realize this part of the project is going to be the biggest, baddest, nastiest dog I could pick a fight with on the block. Tubs are never easy. Sub-floors around a tub are usually in terrible condition. Especially when the existing tub has been in place for at least 15 or more years. Rolling up my sleeves, I dove in head first as I always do. Well, okay, so I didn't roll up my sleeves as it's quite cold at the moment with temperatures being around -4 degrees C. Brrr! Okay, so what I did do was put on some coveralls before grabbing a drywall saw. Off to the kitchen I went and started hacking away at the wall shared in common between it and the bathroom. Why would I cut into the drywall you ask? Well, I need to see how the plumbing for the tub was organized and accessing it from the kitchen wall is the easiest way. Knowing where water pipes and electrical wires will tell me what I have to think about for fitting in a replacement tub. What's more, I could finally get a peek at the condition of the sub-floor below the worn out existing tub-shower combination unit I'm about to replace.
With the wall opened up, I take a peek at what I'm in store for. The sub-floor looks rough in places. A quick poke at it with a pry bar tells me I'll need to grab my trusty reciprocating saw and do a bit of sub-floor patching. Let me tell ya, for basic demolition, a reciprocating saw ranks right up their with a good ol' pry bar and a hammer. Can you say “Total Destruction”? Hah! Well, not quite total destruction as it's more like working on a jigsaw puzzle. One cuts a piece out here and follows it up by making the properly sized replacement piece to fit back in. Okay, so there's some extra work involved because of the sub-floor. I'll manage, I always do. Wait... something's amiss here. I back up for a moment and eyeball the assortment of copper pipes in the wall. Things don't quite look right. I see one pipe that is cut off flush with the floor but has been left uncapped. It looks like a vent pipe but it is still solidly attached to something below in the crawlspace. My brain tells me something doesn't smell right (and in more ways than one).
So off I go to the crawlspace, or more appropriately, the down-underverse which is the domain of spiders and mice. But not before I grab a respirator mask and a flashlight. After opening the trapdoor to the crawlspace, I do a belly crawl back to where the bathtub plumbing resides. I start looking over the hodge-podge of pipes. Let's see, here's the existing bathtub drain. And if I follow the drain pipe I should be able to find the vent pipe for the tub. Crikey, I can't find the vent pipe! What's up with that? Grr! My blood pressure rises. Oh but wait, we're not done yet. My blood pressure isn't in the danger zone where it's at that vein bursting level... not yet anyway.
Hmm, okay, let's see if I can find out where that cut off pipe comes from. It only takes a second to put two and two together as I realize what the scoop is. If anyone was standing outside the house within earshot at that very moment, they would have heard a level of cursing that would put an entire armada drunken, swearing, brawling pirates to shame. Tracing the open pipe to its source, I realize the previous owners relocated the vent but failed to reconnect it. In other words, if I was an old time coal-miner and kept a canary, poor little Tweety probably would have done his/her job. Yikes!
So finally we arrive at the blunt-nosed scissors analogy. Some people shouldn't be allowed to to use anything beyond the blunt-nosed scissors unless they demonstrate sufficient mastery of the tool, otherwise they'll do more damage than good.. And the previous home-owners have proved that point time and time again. Give them a hammer? No way! Allow them to use a hacksaw? Double no-way! Considering the problems I keep uncovering, it looks like my work is cut out for me. Oh the joys of discovering the hack solutions the previous owners have carried out upon my poor little abode. I must exercise the demons from my house... begone oh vile demons of owner's past!
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A MacGyver Moment
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Dec 24, 2010 9:33 pm
652 Views
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For those of you who have been following my “Bathroom of Sisyphus” project, you know I've been knee-deep in remodeling during my spare time. If you took a peek now, one would swear a flock of woodpeckers took up residence in the bathroom walls. There are holes everywhere from exploratory surgery attempts to discover what lurks behind the drywall in a number of different locations.
Several weekends ago I ripped out the vanity cabinet. In the process, I discovered that none of the water shutoff valves to the plumbing fixtures functioned in any manner one expects from a shutoff valve. Lets just say that I had a brief moment where I recreated the Old-Faithful geyser in my bathroom. While I hadn't intended on having a shower at the moment, the plumbing had other plans.
Well, it didn't take long before I took a trip to the local home improvement center to pick up plumbing supplies. After acquiring the replacement valves and associated copper fittings to make several adjustments, I set about showing off my plumber's crack to no one in particular. With a pipe cutter in one hand and a propane torch in the other, I dove in head first. But not before I shut off the water main and opened a faucet to drain the water so as not to have another geyser effect from those pesky malfunctioning valves.
Things moved forward as I slowly replaced the leaky valves by sweat soldering new fittings in place. Ah, but no project goes without a hitch and I encountered one that had me scratching my noggin. In one location, the pipes were low enough that what seemed like an endless reservoir of water was still present which I couldn't purge. Let's just say soldering and water are mortal enemies as the process simply won't work. Curse you laws of thermodynamics! To vanquish my watery enemy, I thought about pressurizing the pipes with air but that seemed too complicated. What I needed was a simple solution. Hmm? What would MacGyver do?
The running joke I heard when I was growing up as a kid said that a truly handy person could fix anything with bailing wire and chewing gum. How about with a slice of bread? Yes indeed! I leveraged a loaf to get myself out of the pickle, er a jam, ah heck, you know what I mean! 
I once heard that if a piece of bread is crammed into an open copper pipe, it would block the water flow and prevent the heat from wicking away. And once you turn the water back on, the bread dissolves to free the blockage. So off to the kitchen I raced for a slice of Rye. Mmm, I had to have a bite before I blocked the pipe. After a few minutes of packing bread into the pipe, not a drop of water was to be seen. Presto-chango, like magic, the fittings soldered on like a champ. An instant MacGyver solution!
So what is the state of the Sisyphean bathroom? Looks like I'll have to write about that at another time otherwise I'll have a mini-novel in place.
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Christmas Gifts for Your Partner
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Dec 19, 2010 10:16 am
674 Views
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With the holiday season in full swing, one thinks about interacting with those around us who are special. Many of us share gifts as a way of expressing the fact we think about another. For some, the act of looking for a special gift is intended to show our love or appreciation.
Living alone in the house for well over 20 years, I don't do much in the lines of celebrations for Christmas. Of course I put up Christmas lights on the house to prevent becoming a Grinch with a heart three sizes too small, but giving gifts is somewhat pointless when you're the only one in the house. As always, it started me to thinking about what I would do if I had a significant other. Years ago, when I did have a girlfriend, Christmas gift giving was an interesting process. I'd hunt and search to find at least several special items that I thought were unique. For example, on one particular Christmas, I gave two sets of gifts. One gift was a biker-style leather jacket I found in a Harley Davidson motorcycle sports wear shop. The other set of gifts was a coordinated set of wrist watches. Each watch looked like a royal card from a set of playing cards. In total, I gave three watches – the Jack of Diamonds, the Queen of Diamonds, and the King of Diamonds. All in all, they were unique gifts but were they the right gifts? Hard to truly tell as most of us are pretty good at showing appreciation even if something isn't in the ballpark with our sense of aesthetics.
This leads to my question, which would you prefer your partner to do – give one or more surprise gifts picked out in secret or have both of you spend time together to search out gifts as a joint effort? With the first option, the element of surprise and the thought involved plays the biggest role. The second option allows for together time and the ability to pick unique gifts as a couple.
As for me, if I did have a GF, I'd enjoy the second option. Spending time roaming about in the array of unique little cubbyhole stores one finds could be fun. Anyone else care to offer up their thoughts? Of course there are are more options, one might not even believe in giving gifts so don't feel constrained to the choices I've mentioned. Instead, look at the deeper questions carried by the words and express your sentiments.
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I'm Right - You're Wrong
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Dec 12, 2010 4:35 pm
696 Views
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Is there a time when what you think is the right thing to do is the wrong course of action? And why should a person feel uncomfortable taking what they believe is the morally correct course of action?
The first question is rather subjective in nature. Right and wrong are moral values we have formed due to our experiences in life. In part, some of those beliefs have also been shaped by the role models around us. Even current environmental conditions such as panic or prolonged hunger could cause us to ignore our beliefs about what we consider morally right or wrong. I won't even dive into the political beliefs where conservative and liberals crash head to head over ideologies which are most likely deeply rooted in how the brain itself is wired. When you get down to it, one person's right could very well be another person's wrong.
Considering how amorphous the concept of right and wrong is, I wonder what others think about when they witness something that triggers one of the feelings that's most likely instinctual – greed. Today I had a brief opportunity to be the target of several people's attention. And that leads to the second question I posed about feeling uncomfortable taking an action. Okay, let's get along with the core of the story shall we?
Over the past few weeks, I've been working on renovating the bathroom in my house. It keeps me busy in what little spare time I have and it also keeps me running back and forth to the home improvement stores for parts on a regular basis. Today was no exception. After tearing out the vanity cabinet and the sink top in the bathroom, I discovered something an experienced contractor would have well been aware of – the new vanity sink top didn't fit square against the wall. A rather large gap over 150mm wide existed between the front edge of the sink and the wall. Plain out, it looked nasty as could be. Unbeknownst to me until I ripped out the old sink, the previous fixture was embedded into the wall. Fine and dandy except the edge of my new sink has a bevel. To solve this, I need to hand craft a side=splash from one of those tiles that have multiple pieces of ceramic attached to a flexible meshing. So off to the home improvement center I did dash.
After poking around in several stores, I still couldn't find anything that would match up well with the sink tops color. Eventually I arrived at one of my usual haunts. Pulling into the parking lot, I started making a beeline for the door as it was drizzling. My eye picked up that oh-so-familiar color, the color of green. There on the ground lay a rather large bill folded in half. Twern't no Alexander Hamilton neither, something a wee bit larger.
At this point, most of us consider what action to take. Do we keep the money or do we look for the rightful “bond-bearer” if at all possible? Now we arrive at my second question. Potentially, one can feel a level of edginess no matter what choice we might make. Let's say a person decides to take action A – go to the lost and found department and turn in the money. Now, if one does such a thing, the result one encounters may vary anywhere from an acknowledgment of honesty, blank stares, or in some cases – criticism. The last being the most unique of the reactions. It's not unusual to hear someone call another a fool for trying to return lost money. Hence, this leads back to the initial question, are there times when doing the right thing is wrong?
I'll leave it as an exercise in thought for those of you who read to this point, did I keep the money or did I try to turn it in? Only the Shadow knows. Well, the Shadow and the person who would have been at the lost and found desk.
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The Rhythm's Gonna Get Ya
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Dec 5, 2010 11:10 am
790 Views
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Ever notice how one's body has a mind of its own at times? Mine certainly does. In ways, it reminds me of an ancient dinosaur. When I was a kid, the authors of some books theorized the bigger fellas like the Brontosaurus had two brains to control their body due to their massive size. Okay, so I'm showing my age as it's been renamed to Apatosaurus. Supposedly, not only did they have a kitty-cat sized brain in their head, but they also had a little bitty thinker back near their tail. Well, soon it will become pretty evident why I suspect I directly descended from one of those fellas.
Being that it's winter, I'm trying to fight off the gray-sky blues by making a few improvements to the house. Change does wonders for altering the mood. Since I'm by myself, I enjoy jamming to music rather than listening to the cars drive by outside on the street. A quick check on the Internet turned up a trance radio station I liked. There's some dance music playing so I crank up the volume and make a beeline for my painting tools because I'm ready for change.
Earlier, I'd painted a few color swatches on the wall. Testing the waters so to speak. Seems that maroon color I thought might look nice as a focal point was less than spectacular. While applying some white primer paint over the color samples, I unconsciously start moving the paint brush up and down to the rhythm of the music. Next thing I know, what little junk-in-the-trunk I do have just can't resist the bass line as I start swinging my tail feathers back and forth. As the beat kicks up the pace so does my shaker.
Normally it wouldn't be a big deal as I'm inside the house. But today, since I wanted to enjoy the sun as much as possible, I have the blinds wide open on the big picture window out front. As my can is swaying back and forth I turn to fill my tray with more paint. From the corner of my eye I see something move. Walking by on the street is teenage girl and she's looking straight at me. Let's just say her expression spoke more volume than the tunes I had playing.
Girl: “What's that old dinosaur doing in there? For the love of God, close your blinds!”
I wonder if I traumatized her for life?
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9
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From Here To Eternity
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Nov 25, 2010 11:00 am
726 Views
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Every night as the moon rises, the sound of cursing can be heard echoing from the darkest corner of my house. As I swear and grumble from within those shadows of a seriously dated 60's style bathroom that's a mere step above the less than sheik style of a stereotypical truck stop dumper, I ponder as I renovate, “Who cast this foul hex upon me?” Shoot, the only thing missing is a vending machine on the wall that sells caffeine pills, condoms, and dehydrated tuna salad sandwiches otherwise it really would be on par with a truck stop dumper.
As a result of the hex, I slave for hours to remove that evil remnant from the past – a gawd awful flower print wallpaper! And with each hour of my life that slips away as I battle the paper monkey on my back, I chant a curse with the hopes that dozens of feral cats will defile the grave of Jean-Michel Papillon by marking their territory upon his headstone.
Why would I wish hordes of mangy felines to leave Papillon's grave smelling less than mountain fresh? Well, now, it seems Jean-Michel Papillon is the fella some credit with being the inventor of “modern” wallpaper. Yes, yes, the Chinese had various forms of wallpaper eons before the Papillon family line would spawn Jean-Michel and his blasphemous legacy. But Papillon is given credit primarily because he used printing press technology such that mass production could happen. And that accursed innovation allowed the former home owners to transform the bathroom into the exact opposite of the Taj Mahal – something sorely lacking in any form of aesthetics. To use a few selective words to describe the scenic outlay, “Ouch! My freaking eyeballs!” May those dozens of cats mark Papillon's grave from now until I'm done with this crummy task which may very well be an eternity. Welcome to the bathroom of Sisyphus where the removal of wallpaper never ends.
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