Seeing the Future is Depressing

When you are older, say, late 40s, you will become tired of life, and this is why: you know what will happen.  Not at the end, which you do know, but that's not why you're tired.  You're tired of life because you know that getting out of bed means your socks, your slippers, your robe, the bathroom, stretch, cat litter, cat feeding, breakfast, and so on throughout your day.  You're tired because if you go out, you know what will happen.  You know what it's like.  You know your reaction.  You know when you'll be tired.  You know when you'll be sore, when you'll be angry, when you'll be filled with regret.  You also know what others will do and how they will react.

You are tired of life because you see the days stretching forward and you see the lines of repetition, even the supposedly special events.  Your naive excitement flakes away with repeated experience.  You know there is no secret cave or an amazing person or hidden knowledge or adventure around the corner.  They have all disappointed in the past.  Even the exciting events are predictable.  The forest isn't endless.  There is no cache of money.

Your experience has made you see the future and seeing the future is disappointment because the future is the past is the present is the repetition of it all.  It is why some people in "mid-life crises" will try to change their lives drastically: buy a flashy car, find a new spouse, experience a psychotic fugue.  As anyone will tell you, it won't work.  You know the car needs to be washed and the price of gas is going up.  The new spouse is the same as the old spouse.  The psychotic fugue will end and there will be paperwork.

Dementia could fix this.

Tiling is Easy!

We need to tile a 3' by 5' exterior landing and a 7' by 9' interior mudroom.

"Tiling is easy," they said.  "Even beginners can do it."

Uh huh.  Just grab some grout and slap those tiles in?  No.  Let me tell what you really need to do:

Secure your sub-floor.  This means knowing where your joists are and nailing the 3/4" plywood down with decking nails (galvanized because they're exterior) every four to eight inches.  We chose six.  Hit each nail ten times because they're looong.  Hit them carefully because they are "twisty" nails and you don't want to bend them because they were expensive.  Strain your arm putting in seventy-plus nails.

Now what about the end of the plywood that has been out in the rain and looks bent and that isn't long enough?  Take it out, replace it, then realize the masonry at the end causes to it stick up and be angled the wrong way (bad in the rain!)  Realize now that nailing into masonry isn't possible with a regular hammer and nail.  Now that it's half nailed in, you don't want to take it out and ruin it.  Figure out how to chip away masonry.  Figure out how to level masonry.  Be sure the sides of your exterior entry have their gaps closed, so nail in boards from underneath and try your hand at filling with thinset cement.

Figure out how to nail through 3/4" plywood and into masonry.  You can use a nail gun that uses blank .22 bullets.  Yeah, you'll have that on-hand, won't you?  Good luck trying to find a place to rent you this weapon.  Try not to shoot a nail through your foot.

Congratulations, you are nowhere near to tiling yet.  You still have to put on the other layers: unmodified thinset, cement board using special screws that also use a special bit, tape, thinset for the tape and screws, liquid waterproofing membrane (priming layer), waterproofing tape on the sides (fiberglass fabric of which there are many, many varieties), more waterproofing membrane (thicker, but not too thick).  One more waterproofing layer.  Let dry thoroughly in between.  One more thing: be sure you didn't screw down that cement board into any joists because you're just asking for your tiles to crack.

STILL not ready!  Install the exterior door.  How?  Youtube.  Dunno.  Probably shims and screws.

Now you're ready, but not for grout.  You're ready for modified thinset.  Unlike the unmodified, this stuff has latex additive and is more flexible.  Yeah, you need the parts under the tile to be able to shift in weather.  Do you need expansion gaps?  What does that even mean?  It means you'll need exterior-rated silicone caulk that matches the color of your grout.  Leave expansion gaps around the perimeter.  Don't worry, it's not really clear how you're supposed to do that.  If your tiling area is very large (over 12'), make an expansion gap or two...somewhere.  I stopped paying attention since our area wasn't that large.

Are we ready yet?  Well, set those tiles using the modified thinset!  Make sure you don't have weird cuts to do leaving weirdly cut tiles in places where you can see them and be irritated forever.  Be sure you install the tiles in straight lines or else be irritated forever.  Did you already consider what orientation you'll be setting your tile?  Straight, diamond, off-centered?  Yeah, you should have tested that long before this point.  You should also have made double sure you have enough tiles by laying them out on the plywood before you did any of this.  Too late now.

Speaking of tiles, I hope they're not ceramic if you're using them outside.  You're just asking for your tiles to fail.  Do you have the kind of tiles that need to be sealed first?  Dunno.  Too much to think about.  Gotta tile this floor before it rains.

Be sure you know how to put that modified thinset on in a way that doesn't leave gaps.  Use the notched trowel that you have chosen with the correct size notches.  What size is that?  1/4" is the most mentioned.  Trowel on the cement board and smear it around, but be sure you use the notches in the trowel to give a final swipe in one direction.  Do not swirl!  Why?  Because you don't want to leave gaps, do you?  "Butter" the back of your tile, too.  It's what the pros do.  Set in your tile.  Wiggle it.  Not too much!  Be sure you've gotten 90% coverage on the back.  How?  Uh... I dunno.  Cross your eyes and make a wish.

Can we grout yet?  Well, did you get the right kind of grout?  You can have premixed, cement, or epoxy.  Premixed is fantastic...unless you look at the reviews of the many people who vehemently hate it.  It doesn't need to be sealed, but you have three seconds to wipe it off the face of the tile before it sets forever.  Cement is the most used, but you need to seal it (and reseal it periodically) with yet another product and you can't touch the product to the tile or you will discolor it forever.  Cement is also water-permeable.  Epoxy is waterproof and it doesn't need to be sealed ever.  It is also fast-setting, you have to mix it in exact proportions, and it discolors when exposed to sunlight.  Oh yeah, you must also choose the color of your grout in the poor light of your local hardware airplane hanger.  What are the chances we can use the same grout for the tiles outside (green) and the tiles inside (creamish)?  Slim to none.

Did I also mention you need a "float" (there will be at least five choices.  Take the cheapest), a chamois (recommended over a sponge), a giant mixing tool that goes on your drill, buckets, spacers (you must know how wide you want your grout), and a rubber mallet?  Oh, yeah, you need all those, too.

Hold on...did you think about what you do at the end, just above the exterior steps?  Drip edge and a bullnose?  Or did you need "stairnose"?  Nobody's heard of stairnose at the local hardware stores.  Order it and get it in a week or three.  How else will you keep the end from crumbling off?  

Yes, you can grout now.  As long as you followed all the directions on everything and waited the correct length of time for whatever and whatever to set for however.  Grout your heart out.  But read the directions!  It's good to have a partner to help you wipe or else you'll be very, very sad.  Make small grout batches.  Work in small sections.  Get the grout in good.  Get it in evenly.  If you needed to mix the grout, did you mix it the same every time?  If not, your grout color will come out patchy and weird.  Did I mention you want a grout rated for "no efflorescence" if tiling outside?  I didn't?  What does it mean?  Who knows.  Make another wish.

Congratulations: you have tiled.  Wasn't that easy?

Definitions

How difficult it is to keep caring about life.  Is that ennui or apathy?  Whatever.

Is You?

The answer to, "Is you a good boy?" is always yes.  Yes, you are a good boy.  "Who is my little buddy?" also has a standard answer: you is.  You is my little buddy.  Fluffy head, wittle paws, damp wittle chinny chin-chin are all possessed by the same good little buddy.

Hott Stuff

Her legs went all the way up to her hips where they stopped abruptly.  They also went down to her feet, which stuck out nearly as long a distance from her ankles as her knees.  Her hair was a long, luxurious sable, kept neatly in a box under the stove.  It smelled like warm hair when she baked.  Her entire apartment was a work of art, mostly collage.  She intimidated men, which was an unusual hobby, but she was good at it and didn't want to get out of practice.

Who is your least favorite celebrity?

How to Become a Celebrity

Easiest Method:
Step 1: Be born into a family of celebrities.
Step 2: Be a celebrity.
This easiest method works especially well for children of already famous parents.  If those parents are good looking, your chances of becoming a celebrity increase even more.  If you have inherited those good looks, super-stardom-bonus!  You will skip ahead in every line.  You will have automatic connects to the biggest names in Hollywood even while in-utero.  The hardest part of this method of celebredom is NOT becoming a celebrity.

Second Easiest Method:
Step 1: Be born into a wealthy family.
Step 2: Be a celebrity.
This method is nearly as easy as the first, but you yourself will be required to have good looks.  Your family may not be good-looking, but if you're too ugly, this method will not make you a celebrity unless you crash and burn.  Crashing and burning chances are increased for this method as many people in the world will be secretly wishing for it.  Your money, however, will protect you no matter what.  Your wealth can even improve your looks dramatically to increase your celebrity chances.  You will be followed by paparazzi.  You won't mind.

Third Easiest Method:
Step 1: Commit a horrific crime.
Step 2: Be a celebrity.
This method is becoming more difficult to achieve and sustain in modern times.  Your crime will have to be quite horrifying to boost you to celebrity status.  Again, good looks are required for "celebrity"; otherwise, you will only achieve "infamy".

Hardest Method:
Step 1: Cultivate a talent.
Step 2: Try to get noticed.
Step 3: Keep trying.
Step 4: Cultivate additional talents, and/or deepen your talents, to try to stand out.
Step 5: Try new ways to get noticed.
Step 6: Plug along.
Step 7: Buy a brain-damaged cat.
Step 8: Make videos of your cat.
Step 9: Try to get people watching your cat videos to notice your talent in other areas.
Step 10: If you're lucky, die of old age.

Pageant Question: Tell me a joke.

It was the fourth time the city inspector had been out, and it was wearing on Joshua's nerves.  Every time the guy showed, there was another repair that needed to be made, urgently, and with a follow-up required.  Joshua had purchased the Victorian mansion at auction, and it had been a mess.  It had been chopped up into seven apartments and was suffering from being uninhabited for three years while in the city's dubious "care".  Replacing windows, plumbing, electric, hot water tank, furnace, and roof had taken Joshua a long time and a lot more money.  He managed to pick up the surrounding lots, emptied of their houses years ago, for only a dollar apiece.  Now he was trying to become self-sufficient and was building himself a rather large garden, complete with chickens.

Mr. Giambro, Joshua hadn't learned the man's first name, paced around the enclosure intended to hold the city's maximum allowed five chickens.  Joshua had built it himself and was rather proud.  He realized it was part of the reason why he felt so annoyed right now; the inspector didn't "ooh" and "ahh" the way his friends did when shown his handiwork.  Mr. Giambro instead made notes and made ticking sounds with his tongue.  Joshua bit his lip and waited.  The inspector looked out of place in the garden, wearing his wrinkled brown suit and vintage 1980s loafers, and pacing off the distance from the house to the enclosure.  He paused, then took out a small measuring tape and circled the enclosure again, making more notes on height, length and width.  Mr. Giambro peered up at the house.  "This is a multi-family?"

Joshua took a breath.  The inspector knew full well he had converted it back into a single.  "No, I..."

"Oh, wait, yes, I see it here."

Joshua felt his jaw muscles straining.

"It appears as if this complies with 341-11 through 341-14.  It will have to be approved by the City Clerk, of course."

"Of course."  Joshua rubbed his face muscles and tried to loosen up.

The inspector walked back over to the enclosure and unlatched one of the doors.  "Do you know why chicken coops have two doors?"

Joshua was surprised by the question.  Was he supposed to prove his knowledge of chicken husbandry?  Now?  He took a gamble.  "No, Mr. Giambro.  I don't know why chicken coops have two doors.  In case of fire?"

"Because," Mr. Giambro latched the door.  "If they had four doors, they'd be chicken sedans."  Joshua's jaw loosened enough to hang open.  "The City Clerk should make a decision within two to three weeks."  The inspector picked his way carefully out of Joshua's yard.  "Have a nice day."

Pageant Question 31: How do you handle stress?

Combating stress is a constant war that requires hyper-vigilance.  One slip of attention from your stress and it will take over your life; you may never recover once you slip.  SO PAY ATTENTION!  What is making you stressed?  Think of it.  Think of it now.  Examine it.  Zoom in on it.  Focus on it and enlarge your stress until it is the only thing in your mind.  If you find your mind drifting, follow the path of darkness on which it has put you.

When you think about the stress in your life, it may cause you to think of the other parts of your life that have gone wrong.  Let those fill your head, too.  More often than not, your stress will also cause you to think of stressful times in your past--times when things have gone wrong, or you took the wrong action, said the wrong words, been embarrassed, hurt someone, got hurt yourself.  These are moments that haunt you and stress you from times gone past.  They are over and cannot be dealt with, so think about them.  Add them to what you are currently experiencing and relive them again and again until the paths become familiar and well-worn.  By waging war against your current stress, bring in the old battles you have lost and wage your war on multiple fronts.

Breathe shallowly.  Inoutinoutinoutinout, repeat.  Look around your room and see what is wrong.  Dusty?  Messy?  To-dos undone?  See them all, no matter how small, and add them as skirmishes to your war on stress.  If your breathing wasn't fast enough when you started, increase it now, and feel your heart pounding in your chest.  Imagine the cortisol surging through your veins, and picture the bodily stress this war is inflicting on you.  You are now wearing your battle armor of hormones, fat and guilt.

NOTE: I am terribly sorry for today's post!  It is making me panic a little just reading it.  Definitely find a real article somewhere about how to relax.  Maybe go for a walk.  Breathe deeply.  Try yoga.  Relax.  All is well.  All is well.  Ommmmmm.....

Pageant Question 17: Sell us your favorite product.

"Here's to good friends," Tony said, raising his glass, "tonight is kinda special."  The work group from Consolidated Conglomerate approved of the sentiment and drank from their Glassworx glasses or mugs, available in many different sizes to suit their needs.

George was new, so before standing with his own toast, he asked John, "Canai?"

Tony was surprised the new guy wanted to speak to the group already, but there was no reason why not.  "Yes you can."

George stood, clearing his throat.  "There's something special in the air," he began, and everyone began nodding, feeling it.  "We're doing what we do best and we try harder.  We think different.  Manly, yes, but women like it, too."  The others in Meyers' Clothiers Suits and Work-Wear laughed. When the laughter started to die down, George asked, "Can you hear me now?"  When they were silent and attentive, he continued, "With imagination at work, oh, the possibilities!  We bring out the best, and anything less would be uncivilized.  Thank you for your support."

During the rousing round of applause for the new guy, Tony stood and shook George's hand, "I love you, man."

304

Meanwhile, in the Seventh Circle of Hell, Drachmach was rolling grit into his fingernails when he felt the sudden and irresistible urge to stand, which he did, and turn in a circle three times, which he also did.  When he was done, Drachmach was no longer in Hell, the Seventh Circle, Molten Quarter, Drachmach's scrape-hole, but rather he stood in a cavernous room, the stone floor smooth, cold, and covered with chalk scratchings.  Torches flickered on the far away walls, and coals burned dimly in a portable fire nearby.  A man, a human, knelt outside the chalk scratchings, making noises and raising and lowering his hands.  It took Drachmach a few moments to work through his disorientation to realize what had happened: a human sorcerer had abducted him.

230

My dentist is some sort of sorcerer.  I know he is and I'm one cavity away from proving it.  Let's take the obvious clues: his office has no windows.  Anywhere.  Even the front door is a solid door.  He always wears dark clothes.  His name is Igor Viktor Zaplanski.  He's from Transylvania.  Nobody has ever seen him away from his office.  If you seem about to ask a personal question, he crams his fingers in your mouth and pretends to poke around.  He says he's checking for gum disease, but seriously.  He hums strange old tunes and sometimes speaks under his breath--I'm sure they're spells.  He wears weird leather shoes with laces.

My mother doesn't believe me and refuses to engage me in my "wild speculation".  I intend to prove that Dr. Zaplanski is a sorcerer, and my next dental cleaning will be my chance.

(**Side note: the topic was inspired by the post number being "dentist time".  Two-thirty.  Twoooo-thhh-hirty.  Get it?  Har!**)

187

The New Year's Eve party was a smashing success in that no one died, which was much better than previous years.  The clean up was still going to be extensive because of the fights and alcohol poisoning, but, still, guests in Intensive Care were not guests in the morgue, hence the long awaited positive checkmark.

176

Staying positive in the face of disappointment was not in Barley's nature.  Disappointment invariably rocked him and caused a dark cloud to descend on even the most positive aspects of his life.  Truth be told, there were not many positive aspects, and those few did not stray far into positive territory, so when the latest disappointment assaulted him, even Barley's full ice cube tray could not give him a lift.

155

They say that the mirror never lies.  Unfortunately, you have to look in a mirror with your eyes, which are notorious fibbers.

141

Setting: low-end coffee shop, small.

Stage dressing: two round tables, each with two cheap chairs; a coffee bar (black particleboard) and a door frame (black) indicating the back room of the shop.

Characters: silent, surly coffee shop owner (Uri.) Beautiful and aloof woman (Chasmine.) Angry businessman with ex-wife trouble (James.) Comic relief androgynous bag-person with "Hank" the mop head (Limpy.) The characters should be read as written: superficial and without personality or redeemability. When delivering lines, actors should remember the word "snide."

Plot: no discernible plot. James will be angry. Chasmine will be aloof and, eventually, intrigued but untouchable. Uri will pop in and out as the other characters need coffee or have a question. Limpy will ease tensions just in time, but only temporarily. The end of the one-act will leave everyone feeling like nothing happened, life is hopeless and that it must be much more difficult to write plays than one would think.

113

When I bite into a York Peppermint Patty, I'm not on the top of an Alp. I'm not hanging with Eskimos. I'm not about to shred a powder-perfect mountain with my snowboard. When I bite into a York Peppermint Patty, I see death.
 
I was driving and I opened my patty at a light - safely, thank you. Light turned green, I went, and I took a big bite of chocolate and peppermint and nearly died. My throat closed. I couldn't suck even the tiniest of winds. I chewed frantically and tried to breathe. My sight was closing down into a tunnel. Darks were very dark and lights were washed-out bright. How was I steering? My foot lagged on the gas as I swallowed reflexively and kept trying to breathe. I can only imagine my eyes were bugging out of my head, my limbs becoming weaker. I thought vaguely of pulling over, but I couldn't spare the energy--I needed to breathe!
 
Finally, a teenie bit of air. I swallowed and sucked another teenie bit. Not enough, and not fast enough. I looked at Death. Death from a friggin' York Peppermint Patty. What a stupid way to go.

110

He was the Superman to my Lois Lane. Or was it Lana? Anyway, he was Superman, and he had it all. Everybody loved him; except his arch enemies, but that kind of jealousy was to be expected. He was invincible. He could do no wrong. He was desperately needed, especially by me. My knight in shining spandex, the savior of all.

We were married, and, yeah, being the object of jealousy was great; I finally knew the thrill Superman got from Lex Luthor's envy. It's because we were married that I found out Luthor's envy was misplaced. No one would be jealous if they knew what I knew: Superman was a royal bastard.

93

I thought my mother's first reaction to my new place was going to be, "It's too dangerous to live there!" but it turned out she actually said, "You bought a what?" because she misheard me.

"A warehouse, Mom."

"Ahh. My God, I thought you said 'whorehouse'."

"Muh-ther!"

My mother did eventually get to the part about where that said warehouse is located, but by then she was so relieved I wasn't suddenly a Lady of the Evening that she forgot to harp on it.

Yes, the warehouse isn't in the best neighborhood, but there aren't any warehouses in the rich sections of the city, even if I could afford to live there. Living in a warehouse is much more secure than anything else, though. It has industrial doors and industrial windows and it doesn't look like much so people mostly ignore it. I, however, thought it was beautiful, and it is big.

There are three floors, and I don't live on the first floor at all. I have a freight elevator that I take up to the second floor where I keep all my junk under paint tarps. The best part is that I can ride my bike right into my apartment and never have to carry it! Yeah, I traded off having an actual kitchen, but that will come.

83

Aaron drove his new-to-him truck to work in the dark. It wasn't dark because it was the crack of dawn; it was dark because he worked the overnight, and it was winter. Dark came early in winter.

He was very pleased with his truck because it was the newest vehicle he had ever owned, and the driver's side door didn't squeal embarrassingly when it opened and shut. He hated working the overnight. He hated his job. He hated his tie.

The door to Aaron's truck swung open silently. He was already picturing the reluctant trudge into work as he slammed the truck door firmly shut, more energetically than was necessary. The force of the shove, an unusual show of muscle for Aaron, caused him to slip on the ice. His midnight lunch flew comically high in the air as his feet slid out from under him. Aaron hit the ground with lung-clearing force, and the sheet of ice carried his body completely under the cab of his truck. He heard his lunch hit the ground behind him.

Tonight was not going to be a good night.

70

Helen seemed to have the dropsies today. She poured water from the Brita pitcher all over the counter, dropped the towel before she got to the puddle, hurt her finger trying to open the "Sunday" tab of her pill case, dropped the pill case, and dropped one of her vitamins when she finally did get it open.

Helen groaned because she hadn't cleaned the kitchen floor in too long and there were crumbs along all the edges. The vitamin was sure to have hair on it, she fretted, crouching down before the five seconds of the Rule were up.

The vitamin, however, was not on the floor. It was not in her slipper. It was not in her robe. It was not in the bottom cupboard. Helen had watched it fall and knew it hadn't bounced or rolled because she would have noticed. The darn thing was gone.