Prairie Landing
Monday, June 19, 2006
Misadventures in home repair
Ever since we bought this condo, the upstairs bathroom has been stinky. Colliculus can't smell it, guests claim they can't smell it, but I sure can. It smells like the cat pissed in a pot of mildew. We suspected the bathtub needed to be recaulked, which was confirmed by a) my mother and b) the fact that large quantities of bleach would defeat the smell for about a week. Also the fact that the caulk itself was nurturing giant black colonies of flora.
It took more than a year for us to get around to it. By "us" I mean "me," mainly because I could smell it and Colliculus couldn't. We went out and bought the caulk and the caulking gun and the scraper, and I diligently downloaded an article from the Internet, which advised that I could save $100 in 15 minutes with this simple home repair.
Step 1 was to prepare the downstairs bathroom for us to shower in it for a couple of nights (heh). This involved booting the cat's litter box upstairs. I decided the time was ripe to wash the shower curtain, producing the following result:
Step 2 was to remove the old caulk. This took about 2 hours and produced the following result:
This hole was a teaching hole. It taught me that an entire portion of the wall was teeming with water and life.
The hole spent its next 4 days under the assault of a box fan. Eventually the wall congealed. Then, after many consultative calls with my dad, I patched up the hole.
It was somewhere in this period that the big G decided he was pissed off about the litter box relocation and took a big fat dump on the carpet outside our bedroom.
After 9 days of patching and sanding and painting and caulking and recaulking where I fucked up and (mostly) waiting for the different things to dry, we have a recaulked bathtub!
Overall it still wasn't much harder than hiring someone to do it. Hiring people to do things is a big pain in the ass, because I'm willing to work on weekends and they're not, and because watching to make sure someone does a decent job is that much harder when you don't know jack about the job yourself.
That said, doing the job myself was also a big pain in the ass.
It took more than a year for us to get around to it. By "us" I mean "me," mainly because I could smell it and Colliculus couldn't. We went out and bought the caulk and the caulking gun and the scraper, and I diligently downloaded an article from the Internet, which advised that I could save $100 in 15 minutes with this simple home repair.
Step 1 was to prepare the downstairs bathroom for us to shower in it for a couple of nights (heh). This involved booting the cat's litter box upstairs. I decided the time was ripe to wash the shower curtain, producing the following result:
Step 2 was to remove the old caulk. This took about 2 hours and produced the following result:
This hole was a teaching hole. It taught me that an entire portion of the wall was teeming with water and life.
The hole spent its next 4 days under the assault of a box fan. Eventually the wall congealed. Then, after many consultative calls with my dad, I patched up the hole.
It was somewhere in this period that the big G decided he was pissed off about the litter box relocation and took a big fat dump on the carpet outside our bedroom.
After 9 days of patching and sanding and painting and caulking and recaulking where I fucked up and (mostly) waiting for the different things to dry, we have a recaulked bathtub!
Overall it still wasn't much harder than hiring someone to do it. Hiring people to do things is a big pain in the ass, because I'm willing to work on weekends and they're not, and because watching to make sure someone does a decent job is that much harder when you don't know jack about the job yourself.
That said, doing the job myself was also a big pain in the ass.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
The Monsignor suggested last night that we use the word "hoopla" more often, for example in place of "hijinks." While his point is valid -- one word really isn't enough to include all of the antics he discusses -- I must bring up this counterpoint:
By the way, this is the album that contains the classic rock ballad, "We Built This City on Rock & Roll."
By the way, this is the album that contains the classic rock ballad, "We Built This City on Rock & Roll."
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Return of the farmer's market!
And return of Prairie Landing. We've had visitors or been on a trip every weekend since mid-April. That means all the weekend chores have to get done during the week, and that means no time for blogging.
Yesterday was the farmer's market. I purchased a live catnip plant, spring garlic (which looks kind of like wild garlic and maybe that's what it is) and cheese curds. All were successful with the possible exception of the catnip, which the big G was initially excited about but seems to be losing its novelty.
My coworkers clued me in to the cheese curds. I tried to round up a farmer's market posse and one of them said, "I wish I could go and get some cheese curds!" I was like, "What the hell are cheese curds?" Everyone was astonished that I a) had never eaten cheese curds and b) had obviously never been to Wisconsin.
I asked: Are they dry?
No.
Are they wet?
Umm . . . . kind of, I guess. The main thing is they squeak.
Ok . . . so are they slimy?
No one argued that they *weren't* slimy. Meanwhile the non-Wisconsinites rolled their eyes. But the tables will be turned next month when the Michigan blueberries and Indiana corn and downstate grass-fed beef comes in. (No worries about Ohio, though. As far as I can tell nobody raves about anything in Ohio.) It's just like Jersey tomatoes, which I have always been skeptical about.
Slimy or no, I decided to give the cheese curds a shot. They actually seem to just be fresh cheese, like fresh mozzarella only instead they're fresh cheddar or monterey jack or whatever. Who wouldn't like that?
They do squeak on the teeth a little more than mozz, no doubt about it.
Yesterday was the farmer's market. I purchased a live catnip plant, spring garlic (which looks kind of like wild garlic and maybe that's what it is) and cheese curds. All were successful with the possible exception of the catnip, which the big G was initially excited about but seems to be losing its novelty.
My coworkers clued me in to the cheese curds. I tried to round up a farmer's market posse and one of them said, "I wish I could go and get some cheese curds!" I was like, "What the hell are cheese curds?" Everyone was astonished that I a) had never eaten cheese curds and b) had obviously never been to Wisconsin.
I asked: Are they dry?
No.
Are they wet?
Umm . . . . kind of, I guess. The main thing is they squeak.
Ok . . . so are they slimy?
No one argued that they *weren't* slimy. Meanwhile the non-Wisconsinites rolled their eyes. But the tables will be turned next month when the Michigan blueberries and Indiana corn and downstate grass-fed beef comes in. (No worries about Ohio, though. As far as I can tell nobody raves about anything in Ohio.) It's just like Jersey tomatoes, which I have always been skeptical about.
Slimy or no, I decided to give the cheese curds a shot. They actually seem to just be fresh cheese, like fresh mozzarella only instead they're fresh cheddar or monterey jack or whatever. Who wouldn't like that?
They do squeak on the teeth a little more than mozz, no doubt about it.
