Home Improvement Onceler

Over the last couple of months, people have been asking me, "what'll happen to the blog if you sell the Devil Queen?"

This question always makes me think of a scene in Pulp Fiction where Vincent asks Jules what he'll do once he quits.

Jules: I'll just walk the earth.
Vincent: What'cha mean walk the earth?
Jules: You know, walk the earth, meet people... get into adventures. Like Caine from "Kung Fu."

I love the idea of this. However, the truth is probably something closer to the Lorax.


Over the last couple of years, I've apparently become a go-to person for information on house moving and cautionary tales of woe. If nothing else, drop a coin in the bucket and see what kind of story gets whispered down the tube to you.

Really though, the posts may not be as frequent, but there is still plenty of material to work with relating to the Devil Queen in particular (a prequel of sorts) and old homes in general.

Home Improvement Apocrypha

I found this while cleaning out some home improvement rat-holes in the living room. It is a 6" x 4" post card, drawn and painted by me. In an effort to de-clutter the house and raise funds for drum sanders, I'm offering it for sale. If you'd like to make an offer, email me.

Exhibit #1 - Idiot Glove of Doom (Part Two)

The glove in the previous post turned up in last weeks laundry. Scarlet and were folding the laundry when I came across it. "Is this yours," I asked.

"Oh no, that is yours. Remember? It was the glove you were wearing when you tried to tear your hand off with the grinder."

"Oh." Abashed, I pull on the glove. The glove looks really rough, but not nearly as bad as my hand did. That was what, two years ago? Three? Where had this glove been all this time? What in the hell was I thinking while I was grinding down that bath tub? Was I thinking?


Finally I ask, "Really, why did you marry me? I'm freaking idiot."

Scarlet gives me a crooked smile and a playful elbow jab to my ribs, "Sometimes I wonder too."

I'm Not the Only One

I stumbled across this article, "Flip this house. Please," as part of my morning read. I found this passage particularly funny:

"By our second spring, the neighbors had begun to notice that we were somewhat laissez-faire in our approach. We are blessed with very nice neighbors, by the way, all retirees, and it pleases them to landscape with ferocity. Such is the ornamental fervor of suburban culture.
My wife claims she understands this. Still, as she gazes upon their iridescent lawns and geometrically perfect flowerbeds, it is hard for her not to feel a twinge of shame.
"Our lawn is eroding," she informed me recently.
"I don't think that's the right word," I told her.
"What would you call it, then?"
I looked out at the scabs of browned sod and dandelions. "Eroding is when the soil disappears," I said, professorially.
This exchange is characteristic of my overall attitude when it comes to home improvement. I am both self-righteous and incompetent, a truly American combination. The result is a kind of flustered inaction familiar to those who have lived in tenements. Last month, for instance, my daughter dashed out of my office and nearly plummeted down the stairs. I managed to snatch her up, but in the process fell backward and knocked a crater into the flimsy wall of my wife's office.
I have refused to hire laborers to repair the crater, arguing (somewhat plausibly) that we don't have the money and (somewhat less plausibly) that I will do it myself. My stopgap solution has been to push an end table in front of the crater."

Home Improvement Chiaroscuro

As I mentioned in my comment to the previous post, my obsession with the economy and personal finances has a lot to do with the Devil Queen. Once we signed a construction loan to cover what turned out to be the initial costs of moving and rebuilding the Queen, we surrendered most of our financial freedom as well. It is embarrassing to admit, but we actually thought that the initial costs would actually cover the whole project. We were just too green to know better.

The Devil Queen is a cautionary tale. In an exercise of home improvement chiaroscuro, I thought that I might give you a fine example of what you ought to do with an old home. I think the deep, hope-killing darkness that is the Devil Queen only makes this bright example shine even more.

In particular, consider this:

"Below is the short list of what I’ve done in the last 6 years. All work needing it, is done with permits, inspected, and meets code.

Remodeled 2 apartments over the garage, and I have great tenants
Removed 3 bathrooms and 3 kitchens (rentals)
Removed 2 story addition
Rebuilt 2 porches
All new wiring from the poll on, with new sub-panels and main disconnect
All new copper water lines from the curb on and several new drains
All new phone lines, CATV, and coaxial from the poles on (work in progress)
Restored kitchen and bathrooms, including building my own cabinets
Stripped off asbestos siding and restored exterior detail
Had all of the missing interior and exterior trim remilled out of salvaged old-growth redwood.
Stripped exterior to bare wood and repainted
Built a laundry room
Stripped all of the wallpaper and old flooring back to bare plaster and original floors
Stripped all of the paint out of 4 rooms – all with LOTS of woodwork
Removed all of the 1920s partitions and rebuilt walls
Cleaned a “shooting gallery” out of the attic
Purchased antique lighting for the entire house (mostly rewired and installed)
Purchased antique tile for the 2 fireplace hearths
Purchased antique doorknobs, mortise locks, and hinges for all of the doors
Purchased antique Eastlake doors for the entire house
Plus 1.4 zillion other little things

The last 6 years have been a blur, but really a lot of fun. To date my total debt is $9,000 on a $20,000 home equity line of credit. Four thousand of the $9,000 debt went for dental work and taxes 2 years ago. My 2 credit cards carry a zero balance. There are a lot of things about my life that I’m not proud of, but boy, this is not one of those."

I'm impressed. In any case, congratulations for a job very well done Greg.

It Costs More Than Money

Amanda provided a link to this story in a comment to a post below. It's a great article. This segment of the article stuck with me:

How long did projects like re-caulking 733 window panes take?

“Years,” Mr. Giffels says. “This is where I’m glad I wrote the book 10 years later, it gave me a perspective of all the time it cost: All my vacation time, all my possible spare time, a number of years of my children’s growing up I gave to my children’s house. And once you get in it, you can’t get out, you can’t sell a house in that condition. When all of a sudden you realize what it is costing you in your life, it’s too late.” [Emphasis added by me]

First, Mr. Giffels is 100% right.

Second, whereas he loves the town in which he lives, I do not. This makes being trapped with my whore of an old house even more odious. Not only do I resent the amount of my life the house has stolen, I don't particularly like where it is: in a dry county without reliable internet service of any kind, little to no cell phone reception, and a shitty job market (even in the best of times). It might be an understatement to say that strategic planning was not one of our great strengths.

On the upside, I didn't have to refurbish 733 panes of glass. If I did, I think I would have shot myself a long time ago. Really, that much glass is hell. I'm just impressed that he finished.

Home Improvement Quote of the Day

"At any point, I am one bad decision away from becoming a paraplegic when it comes to the house."

- John

Too Little Too Late?

Last night, as I plodded through one small house project after another, I had to wonder if it was too little too late. At this point, it seems like no matter how many things get taken off the list, another half-a-dozen show up or refuse to be finished. At what point are you officially screwed?

Maybe I already am but haven't noticed? Behold the power of denial!

Death-Wish Wish Fulfillment

There are wasps in our attic. At first I thought they were living in the trim where the master bathroom joins to the rest of the house. That was wishful thinking. They are in fact in the attic. I deduced this by watching them slowly piling bits of blown insulation from the attic on the porch roof to make room for their horrific love nest.

The freak snow storm we had earlier this week was probably one of the last appearance of winter for the year. Soon, spring will be here. When it arrives, the wasps will come with it. Now is the time for me to strike.

I've done a bit of research and preparation. Bug-bombs are out and Spectracide aerosol wasp spray are in. Now, all I have to do is make my way into the attic on a cold night, find the nest without drawing too much attention to myself, hose it down with poison, make my way back to the attic hatch (50-60 feet back to the rear of the house) without getting stung or falling through the ceiling. I anticipate this being as much fun as swimming around the Great Barrier Reef with a five gallon bucket of chum tied around my neck.

Later, just for kicks, I can climb onto the roof and plug the hole into the attic.

The Joys of Pears and Crack-whores

Mothers, don't let your boys grow-up to marry crack-whores.

As the part of the woe that is our syphilitic existence, the fellow we had lined up to buy our little blue rent house backed out of the deal at the last minute. To say that we are disappointed is an understatement. We still haven't figured out what exactly happened, but is seems that tattooed chain-smoker he recently married has some addiction issues. I imagine that really eats into your money for the closing costs and your interest in becoming a home owner.

Really, we shouldn't be too surprised. The last fellow we had contracted to buy the great blue blight died a week before closing.

At any rate, instead of turning to whiskey, easy women, and heroin, I've been spending a lot of time painting. I've finished a pretty good run of still-life sketches and have some big paintings in the works again. If you are interested, click here and take a look. Any proceeds earned will go to paying someone to finish the Devil Queen. That's a good cause, right?

Another Hand-Job

That’s pretty well what you’re reduced to when there isn’t enough room for the usual acrobatics. God, it sucks. Mercifully, this little postage stamp of hell, our pantry, is substantially smaller than the laundry room. Think 15 square feet vs. 40 or 50 square feet. I don’t think I could stand spending that much time on my knees again.

Here’s our usual floor drill:

1) Patch holes
2) Wood putty
3) Scrape and sand smooth
4) Sweep, vacuum, tack cloth clean
5) Stain
6) Seal with oil based polyurethane (repeat 3 to 5 times as needed)

I’m thinking about starting next week. It’s as good of a time for a hand-job as any, isn’t it?

Perfidious Fates

There is nothing in the world that I like better than coming home late at night, tired and sunburned, and finding that the AC has mysteriously stopped working. There is a sublime joy in standing in the mud, navigating a bleak, black night with a flashlight, and trying to figure out if there is anything wrong with the unit. It makes you pine for time before modern conveniences, a time before people had any reason to expect anything more than discomfort and suffering from life. If you've never been pampered, you have no idea what you're missing, right?

Maybe it is mere wishful thinking, but I think the problem is with thermostat. The display is dead. Neither the heat or AC will work. The only control that functions is the fan switch. If you switch it from "auto" to "on" it'll kick on and start blowing. I pried the face off the thermostat and found the reset button. That didn't do anything. There is a place you can put in two AA batteries to serve as what I presume to be a back-up for the thermostat, so I shoved in a couple and nothing happened.

We've had a shit load of rain this week. I guess this is to compensate for the last couple of months of drought. My guess is that:

1) the thermostat was fried by a power surge (lightning or otherwise),
2) water shorted out the line the thermostat, or
3) mice ate the wire to the thermostat.

I checked the breaker box, but none of them had been tripped. All the clock and appliance displays were flashing, so I know the power was knocked-out at some point.

The only thing in my favor (aside from the fact the Devil Queen was not full of raw sewage) was that it was relatively cool last night (upper 70's). The humidity sucked, but it wasn't too bad.

Anyhow, I'll be calling Julian Electric to come and check the bloody machine.

Homeownership, the joy of joys.

Home Improvement Whack Job

Since we've been working on the Devil Queen, people have long stopped questioning our sanity. As far as I can tell, we've definitively proven that we are insane. Moreover, together my wife and I are crazier than we could ever hope to be alone. And, since my wife has gone to work in the far north of our state and far from the war-zone that is our home, she has reverted to a calmer, happier version of herself. But not I. No, left to my own devices, I followed the black spiral down into the labyrinth.

Since I felt so wretched yesterday, I thought that I'd feed my burgeoning hypochondria and look up some of the symptoms of sleep deprivation. According to the Wikipedia, the effects of sleep deprivation are:

Aching muscles (Hmm, I think that all the house work accounts for that, no?)
ADHD symptoms (?)
Blurred vision (Nope)
Clinical Depression (Not really)
Color Blindness (No, that seems odd)
Daytime Naps (I'm working on Masters Degree in Narcolepsy)
Decreased Mental Activity (Yes)
Decreased Concentration (Yes)
Decreased ability for the immune system to fight off sickness (?)
Dizziness (?)
Fainting (No)
General Confusion (Yes, but I think this is a normal state for me)
Hallucinations (Not that I'm aware of, but, if I were hallucinating, would I know?)
Hand Tremors (? - Sometimes, but I think that was low blood sugar)
Headache (Always)
Hernia (No)
Hypertension (?)
Impatience (Absolutely!)
Irritability (YES!)
Memory Lapse (Yes, see general confusion)
Nystagmus - rapid involuntary rhythmic eye movement - (Not lately)
Nausea (Yes, but I thought that was from poor diet and stress)
Psychosis (I had to look this one up, see below. I think there is strong case for it)
Pale Skin Tone (No more than usual)
Slow reaction time (?)
Slurred Speech (Not that I recall)
Weight loss (No)
Yawning (No, not really)

I had to look up psychosis. Once I stopped to think about it, psychosis is a lot like schizophrenia. Everyone uses the term, but, technically, they don't actually use it in the proper sense. Again, according to Wikipedia:

"Psychosis is a generic psychiatric term for a mental state often described as involving a "loss of contact with reality". Stedman's Medical Dictionary defines psychosis as "a severe mental disorder, with or without organic damage, characterized by derangement of personality and loss of contact with reality and causing deterioration of normal social functioning[1]
People experiencing a psychotic episode may report hallucinations or delusional beliefs (e.g., grandiose or paranoid delusions), and may exhibit personality changes and disorganized thinking. This is often accompanied by lack of insight into the unusual or bizarre nature of their behaviour, as well as difficulty with social interaction and impairment in carrying out the activities of daily living.

A wide variety of nervous system stressors, both organic and functional, can cause a psychotic reaction. This has led to the belief that psychosis is the 'fever' of mental illness—a serious but nonspecific indicator.[2][3]

However, most people have unusual and reality-distorting experiences at some point in their lives, without being impaired or even distressed by these experiences. For example, many people have experienced hallucinations, and some have even found inspiration or religious revelation in them.[4] As a result, it has been argued that psychosis is not fundamentally separate from normal consciousness, but rather, is on a continuum with normal consciousness.[5] In this view, people who are clinically found to be psychotic, may simply be having particularly intense or distressing experiences (see schizotypy). There are superficial forms of psychosis, for example the kind of "intentional psychosis" that Hamlet suffered in the Shakespeare play."

I don't know. Based on some of the feedback I've been getting (from my wife in particular), I'm on my way there if I haven't yet arrived. I've never been a big fan of reality, and it seems kind of sad that they characterize a loss of connect with it as a bad thing. Oh well. In any case, I so like going to new places and experiencing new things. And it's nice knowing where you are in life.
I wasn't really using mine, so the destruction of my psyche isn't too much of a concern for me. It does seem to irritate other people though. What bothers me is the huge toll this project has taken on my body. Never an obsessive narcissist with a fetish for weight lifting, I would nonetheless like to keep my body in good running order. One of my great fears is my body will give out before it's my time to die. I don't want to be one of those stitched-together, tube-riddled people. I've seen a lot of that firsthand, and I do not want to replicate that experience.

I didn't notice how bad it had gotten until I looked at some old pictures the other night.

See, first here I am a year ago. Even a couple of years into this, I still have that young-and-full-of-energy look.



Then, just a few months ago, here I am free-basting old paint. Be honest, if you saw this person walking toward you in a major metropolitan area, you'd cross the street and hope he didn't follow. If he did, you'd mace him. I mean, that isn't someone I'd leave my children with.

And, just last weekend, here I am. If you're wonder about that startled look on my face, that is because my wife surprised me while I was getting out of the shower. Sometimes, she doesn't play fair. The nasty brown towel is very embarassing.

Not pretty. I probably ought to write a will and get my affairs in order, assuming that I have anything left to pass on besides my ashes after this.

Speaking of which, I found this quite amusing. If you haven't discovered some of them for yourself, here are some fascinating ways that your home may end you. It's better than starving I guess.