We recently went through the arduous task of putting our house up for sale. Anyone who has gone through this knows that it's a stressful and trying time. There's the painting and the spackling and the steam cleaning and the "oh maybe we should change these curtains, I don't think they accent the carpet well enough."
Now, folks, I have to come clean about something. I'm not a handyman by an intents or purposes. I'm not that guy who gets a wild hair up his ass and rips out all the old plumbing to replace it with bullet-proof teflon coated 400 guage piping. I don't like doing that stuff. I don't WANT to do that stuff. And if it comes down to it, I do what any mild-mannered, ill-equipped retard like myself will do. And that's one of two things:
1. Buy two cases of beer and invite my friends to "help" me. This is a cheap alternative if you don't want it absolutely perfect. The key to this is don't let your friends drink too much beer until AFTER the task is complete. Fine example? I invited my friends to help put up a privacy fence. By the end of the day we miraculously had a fence (slightly crooked I might add), along with three sun-induced hang-overs, a mild chain saw wound, and a few fencepost holes where there should've been none.
2. Pay a professional to do it. Look up "Fleece" in the dictionary. I ain't talking about Old Navy clothing, either.
And GOD forbid if you even GLANCE at HGTV. Those people are evil and should be banished from the planet. Mark my words, people, if you're even THINKING about selling your place DO NOT TURN ON HGTV. The moment you do is the moment your life will turn into a living hell even worse than the hell you were in before you clicked the remote. Trust me, you turn on HGTV and suddenly you're spewing remodeling catch phrases like "crown molding", "built-ins", "accent walls", and "faux finish". And it doesn't stop there...you're out at Bed, Bath, and Beyond looking for the perfect shower curtain to match with the new adhesive tile you managed to slap down on the bathroom floor without sealing one of the kids beneath it. The show implants subliminal messages into your head. Before you know it you wake up naked at Home Depot wondering through the fixtures aisle debating on whether you should buy the powder coat faucet or just stick with chrome finish. Listen to me now and listen to me well. If you don't want to end up second guessing and remodeling your entire home, stay away from HGTV!
When we first decided to put the house up for sale I thought, hey, a couple coats of paint, some duct tape, a few strategically placed Def Leppard posters and i'm ready to go. That list slowly steam rolled in to a task sheet from hell. Paint, new kitchen ceiling, more paint, refinish the dining room floor, new carpet, new light fixtures, steam cleaning, new plumbing fixtures, more paint, replace doors, replace door hinges, paint doors, bleach...that's right..BLEACH the basement floor, pressure wash the outside of the house...WAIT A DAMN MINUTE.
WASH the house? So you're telling me I should give my house a bath? My first thought was "Could I just wait til it rained again? But no...no no. That would be too easy. I argued with my wife over this one. Which was foolish to begin with but I went down the path anyway. Houses were supposed to have a little dirt on them. It's not like I was driving my place through mud holes. There were no dead animal carcasses splattered on the garage door. What was the deal? But, like a faithful minion, I borrowed my friend Rich's pressure washer (hey, I still have that thing, by the way...and its great for cleaning socks and particularly grimy undergarments), purchased some industrial size house wash (I shit you not...house wash. I was so out of the loop on this one) and headed out to bathe my house.
I read the directions on the bottle: Spray even coat of house wash on the area you want to clean. Wait 5 to 10 minutes. Rinse with pressure washer. Note (and this was the important thing cause I could definately see myself trying this had they not warned me): Do not spray house wash or pressure washer in eyes. The funny thing is...they had that warning for a reason. Somewhere, some jackass picked up a bottle of house wash and his 400 psi pressure washer, stared at them for about 30 seconds and said "hmmmm....i wonder."
So I sprayed a small portion of my porch with the spray wash and immediately hit my stop watch so that in five minutes I could rinse off the soap and smuggly PROVE to my wife that it would make little or no difference. Boy was she gonna feel stupid. In three minutes I will rinse this swatch off and you won't be able to tell the difference (other than that fact that it will be wet). Yes, sir, in two minutes my work for the day will be done and I can go take a nap...right after I pretend that the pressure washer is a flame thrower and blow the petals off ALL the flowers in our front yard (you know you did it too!). That's right, in 10 seconds I would be...oh shit! IT'S TIME!
I braced myself in front of the applied area, planted my feet firmly on the ground, aimed the pressure washer with glee and blasted away.
Well I'll be damned....
It was amazing! The spot I had just washed was bright....shiny...CLEEEAN! Suddenly, I was a born-again pressure washer. I began to coat the entire porch, mouth still agape in the suprise that a small amount of industrial toxins and a jet propelled dose of water could do such wonders. I had no idea how much house wash I actually ingested but I didn't care. I was on a mission. Before I knew it, the entire porch was saturated in house wash. It was running down the walls, dripping from the light fixtures, puddling in the corners. Soon, my porch would be shiny as new. Surely, this would raise the asking price by at least $75...maybe even $100. WHO CARES...I was doing manly things with manly power tools and I was LOVING it!
My anticipation was at full throttle when the stop watch hit five minutes. I couldn't WAIT to blast away the years of dirt and grime. I couldn't wait for my house to glow like new. I couldn't wait to go on a Rambo-esque pressure washing spree. I imagined myself in slow motion, sweeping the bushes with my 50 cal pressure washer, trying to flush out Charlie in a clean sweep (pun intended).
So once again I took aim. Savoring the moment, feeling the trigger beneath my finger and knowing that I had the power.
"Ya feel lucky?" I sneered, "well, DO ya, punk?"
I raised the barrel of my weapon, my eyes narrowed to slits. Women were rushing their children off the street. Tumbleweeds hopped down the sidewalk. Somewhere, a coyote howled. This was the moment where heroes were made. And in that split second, my trigger finger twitched and I heard myself cackling maniacally. I howled with laughter as the torrent of water pummelled the front of my house. As the dirt literally flew off the house I cheered triumphantly. I gritted my teeth in an evil grimace as all the paint began to peel off the wood.
Wait...WHAT? Is that supposed to happen?
Shit.
It took me a second to register that i was not only blasting the dirt off my house...but the paint as well. I stood in the aftermath that i had wrought. Old wet chips of paint lay around me like the pelt of an exploded beaver. Water dripped from the porch, dropping all around me with antagonizing ploinks, each one louder than the next.
*Ploink* You're a Moron
*Ploink* You should've paid someone to do this
*Ploink* I wonder what's on HGTV.
The real key to this is to pretend like you tried it. The correct way to handle this would've been to nod, hike up my pants, and start pondering which exterior paint I would need to finish the job. Yes, that would've been the correct way.
I, however, usually veer from the correct way of doing things (Hence, the porch with the paint completely blasted from its wood supports).
NO...no no no...I took one look at the porch carnage, took a deep breath...
...and screamed profanity at the top of my lungs.
Again, mothers were rushing their children off the street. Birds were dropping dead from their trees. Somewhere, a priest was crying.
I don't remember how long the screaming of profanity went on. Hell, I could've still been screaming on my way to the paint aisle in Wal Mart...not that they would notice. All I know is that my porch looks really great now with its fresh coat of paint.
Rich, come get your pressure washer before I shoot my eye out with it.
Getting Old:
I was reading one of those trendy, star-voyeur magazines. I think it was "Us." You know the kinda magazine I'm talking about...where everyday shmoes get to peek in on the personal lives of our favorite stars. We get to watch Britney poorly-parent her child, get to watch Brangelina (yep, i'm that hip that i can use the star-couples pet names) pretend they're important. And, by the way, who thought of these name-squishes for celebrity couples? Bennifer (Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner)? Brangelina (Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie)? If only Nicolette Sheridon and Brad Pitt hooked up we could call them "Shitt." Or Charlie Sheen and Amanda Peete...that's right..."Peen."
Anyway, so I'm reading this magazine and I see that Denice Richards (who I always thought was on the Hubba Hubba side of the fence) was dating Ritchie Sambora. And, like they always do, they state the star's age...Ritchie Sambora, 48, Eva Longoria, 32, Mick Jagger, 205, Denice Richards, 35. THIRTY FIVE????
The first thought that went through my head is "Oh my god, she's as old as I am!!" Which was quickly followed by an even sadder thought: "Oh my god, I could be dating Ritchie Sambora!" As I shuddered the thought of being Ritchie's "Little Runaway", another thought pounded my head.
HOLY SHIT, I am old.
Now, all you happy little Look-On-The-Brightsiders are thinking "hey, you're only as old as you feel."
Yeah?
Let me tell you something about that little saying...its a load of horseshit. Its right up there with "She has a great personality" (She's Ugly), "Yeah, but he means well" (Ignore him, he's a dickface), "Size doesn't matter "(He's got a small wang but he makes a lot of money). You're only as old as you feel translates roughly to "Look at that old sumbitch in the concert T and ripped jeans...that is soooo sad."
And the truth of it is this...If I were as old as I felt then I'd be in some seriously deep shit. I'd be popping Geritol and waving my boney fingers at the neighbor kids when they stepped on my lawn. Don't get me wrong, I try to stay active. I use the stairs when my wife doesn't feel like carrying me. I still chew my food rather than use the blender method. I've fought off the urge to wear those HUGE wrap around sunglasses over my regular glasses (still not bi-focals) when I drive. But damn if I dont get some strange aches now and then. And that noise that I make when I sit down on the couch....sorta like the sound a huge truck makes when its downshifting...that sound does not belong to me. THAT SOUND CAME FROM MY DAD. HOW DID I ADOPT IT?
And the hair: Yes, i'm going there. Count on me to just say what i'm thinking rather than thinking before I say it but the hair...its a mess. Going bald is bad enough. I don't know how other guys and (in terrible cases) girls handle hair loss. But in my case its a subject that can easily bring tears to my eyes. I did the skinhead thing for a while, but with a head my size I ended up looking like the Death Star with legs. I thought about the comb over. But, again, with a head my size, the comb-over would have to be roughly four feet long and do you have any idea how long it takes to grow four feet of hair?
And its almost like the REST of my body is ashamed of my thinning, uncooperative scalp. My nose and ears are committing mutiny. If I don't trim on a regular basis, I'm afraid my nose hair will reach out and start stealing things off my desk at work while I'm sleeping...
The worst part is the chronic napping. It really is becoming tragic. If I so much as get on a slight incline, i'll fall asleep...and snore. Its really bad too. If I so much as lean against a wall I'm out. And then people laugh and point and my nose hairs go on a rampage and start picking my pockets. Last time they got my car keys...have you ever had car keys up your nose?? HAVE YOU???
I'm wondering if I crossed some invisible line somewhere. Was there a mark on the ground that said "Past this point, YOU"RE OLD"? Cause if there was I either blocked it out or my view was obscured by denial.
Or was there some Old Guy Banquet for me but my invitation got lost in the mail? If so, I at least want my Old Guy Plaque. I think I deserve it, dag nabbit (See??? I"m even talking like an old man!)
Either way, I didn't sign up for this. No one in their right mind would!
Next I'll be doing Medical-Alert commercials. Maybe i'm the next "I've Fallen and I can't get it up" spokesperson. If I start popping little blue pills and hiking my pants up over my belly button, you have my permission to just blow my head off.
Need a reader's opinion:
What is more important, a fan base or a feeling of creative fulfillment? Yeah, I know, its a broad spectrum and you're probably wondering, "what in the hell is he talking about this time?" Well, let me lay it out for ya by posing another question, brothers and sisters: Is it more important to play music that you don't necessarily like a whole lot but seems to go over well with the crowd, orrrr is it more important to do your OWN thing and say heck with who likes or dislikes it? That's the issue that troubles me. I mean, I love playing in front of a crowd. I love to see more than five or six people out front but every time we break into some regurgitated radio tune that has been played and played and played, I can't help but feel this urge that I should beat myself over the head with my own guitar.
So i'm waddling in the stagnant puddle of my own discontent here. I'm sure that some of you are thinking "why not do both?" Why not play covers AND originals. Which probably isn't a bad idea at all. But here's the second part of problem. The music that i'm writing now...the music that really makes the hairs of my arms stand up is nothing CLOSE to the cover tunes we currently know.
Maybe I have this urge to destroy things. Maybe my attention span is too short for my own good. Maybe...but I don't think so.
Which leads me back to the feeling that i shouldn't try to play what other people want to hear and just write and play what I really enjoy. Okay, you're right...we all want to put something out that people enjoy so in the end, artists and songwriters and mimes and hookers...they all sell out in their own odd way...even if only a little.
I mean, sure, i'm just playing in a local bar band. We haven't gone as far as adopting spandex or eye makeup or pointing guitars or black hair dye.
So it all comes down to which side of the fence you're on. Staying with a safe format and knowing that people will get up everytime you play Sweet Home Alabama, or putting out your own thing and maybe reaching a couple people.
Any thoughts?
Well aint this a kick in the nether regions. What's shakin', everybody? Its been a while, huh? I just wanted to drop by here and start up a weekly rant. I can't promise daily rants like I used to but once a week is certainly do-able...i think.
As usual, i just sorta log in here and start running my mouth (or fingers depending on how you look at it). I was reading over some of the past posts today. I barely remember writing most of these so it was very interesting. I sure was a Bush hater, wasn't I? Well, screw all of you. I was doing it before it was cool. Before Eddie Vedder and Ralph Macchio got in on the act. I don't care if he WAS the karate kid...get an original idea you porch-sanding retard!
I've been told by a number of folks that nobody in the entire world cares about my political views so I'll keep my political opinions (bush blows) off the blog whenever possible...no promises though.
For those of you that have been supporting my comic strip (www.44unionavenue.com) i wanted to say thanks. Jack and the gang are still going strong with plenty of ideas up their sleeves. Who knows, maybe we'll make it into the big time...but even if we don't...we're still having fun.
With that being said...bookmark this page...add it to your feed readers...whatever you do. And don't be afraid to leave comments. That's what makes it interesting.
PS: I've added a site meter to this page and i'll keep ya updated.
