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?

Homeless Homeowners

It is possible to own a home and be homeless.  We're about to do it!  Here's how:

We do not have enough money to get a decent mortgage for a decent house.  We were also too poor to carry cash to a city tax auction and compete with contractors and "investors" for dregs.  We are, however, clever enough to dig into the system and buy a city tax auction house outside of the auction so we could prepare and get a personal loan to pay for it.  We are also persistent enough to make it work!  However...

The city said the house was in "normal" condition.  It is not.  The city said they had NO inspection reports, they said they did NOT go inside, and they could not tell us anything about the property.  We can tell them that there is no plumbing, no heat, no doorknobs, a roof that needs complete replacement, and a back porch that is dragging off the back of the house.  We have also found out that the only reason the home was boarded over was because of neighbors begging for it--for years.  Lesson learned: the city knew the condition of the house, they let it get worse, and they had the nerve to ask for any money for it.

We love our house!  We spent all our first months, from September to December, cleaning out the garbage, attempting to get contractors to give us estimates, and bringing over boxes of our stuff we won't need right away.  We tried to apply for the grant that would get us just about everything we'd need to fix the house and live in it, but you have to live in the house to get the grant.  ?!?  After a HUGE struggle, we got special house insurance for a house that was being fixed up that was cancelled after a month because they said the house needs to be fixed up and we need to live in it.  ?!?

So we're now renting our apartment, paying for a personal loan, and paying taxes on our house.  We haven't been to the house in over a week because temperatures are less than 10 degrees, and, as you may remember, we have no heat.  The struggles of low-income people to make it out of their low-income living conditions is real.  Really real.  Because what happens when we can't afford to rent?  We use up all the money we've managed to save for fixing our house.  We can't move in if we can't fix it.  We can't get a home equity loan or house insurance or a grant until we live in it.  What do we do?

The plan: visit the department that manages the grants and tell them we're about to become homeless homeowners unless they put us on the grant waiting list (yes, there's still waiting!)  We look to rent a scary-cheap apartment in the same city as our house.  We wait until the temperatures go to above freezing, go back, keep cleaning, keep moving, try to fix more windows, try to remediate the basement ourselves, and maybe even try to dismantle the back porch ourselves.  In the meantime, keep plugging along, trying to increase our income.

Homeless with a home.  In 10 degree weather (lows below zero.  Fahrenheit, in case you were wondering.)  How does it happen?  People like us struggle to get up.  How will we make it work?  Through ingenuity and persistence, like we've always done.

Inspiration #6

After an hour, the repetitive music from only served to emphasize Kit's frustration with her failure to clear the final level of the game.  Most Atari games didn't even have "save" points, but one saving grace to Pitfall II was that there was a crossing about midway that meant a death would only take you back that far, instead of to the beginning.  The first half was already so difficult that Kit refused to give up, which would mean turning off the game and losing her spot.  Instead, she cranked the volume knob on the Zenith console far left and played instead to the sound of the black, single button joystick creaking left, right, up, down, and occasional "whoosh" of the boiler.

First line inspiration from "Sea Oak" by George Saunders: "At six, Mr. Frendt comes on the P.A. and shouts, 'Welcome to Joysticks!'"

This story was my absolute favorite from the Feeling Very Strange slipstream anthology.  I would love to see it turned into a short film.
 

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 24: Name one possession that you cannot live without and why?

The beat officers had called in the disturbance before they arrived, so the Chief was prepared, but he was not ready.  The entire precinct could hear the officers struggling with the suspect, even through the thick, oak doors.  It sounded like they were trying to drag a mountain lion up the front steps.  The Chief motioned to the officer on desk duty with his chin.  Brody hurried to open the doors and as soon as he slipped the latch, two harassed officers burst through, dangling what looked like a churning bundle of rags between them.

"What the hell are you bringing in here, gentlemen?  Brody!  Open the door let them through.  Bring, whatever it is, into Interrogation Room One, and strap it down!"  The officers followed directions as their charge kicked and screamed.  "I thought you radioed that it wasn't drugs," he accused, watching them attempt to control the flailing limbs of their suspect.

"It's not drugs, Chief," panted Officer McIntosh.  "I swear... Now hold on, sister!  Just calm the heck down and we can help!"

"Schaffer, did McIntosh say this is a woman?"

The other officer stood from strapping padded Velcro restraints around the suspect's bare ankles, "Yes, sir."  Schaffer rubbed his shoulder as if it ached.  "The orneriest woman I've ever run across, and that's counting both my ex-wives."

Once she was fully strapped into the metal chair which was, in turn, bolted to the floor, all the officers and the Chief backed out of the room, closing the door on the woman's furious scream.  "If it's not drugs, gentlemen, then what the hell is wrong with her?"

McIntosh reached into a pocket and pulled out a silver-colored necklace with a blue stone pendant.  "It's about this."

358

The worst part about it was that Jenna knew she was slow.  She remembered her life before the accident, and though she couldn't understand it all, she knew she had been smart.  Jenna felt that her brain had become segmented, and if she reached and stretched she could grasp what she had, but she could only brush her fingertips against it.  That was when the frustration and anger became too much and Jenna would scream and try to bash her broken head against the floor.

330

The apprentice was much more upset about the latest training session than the mage, though he kept his hot indignation down to a simmer as he carried his master's supply cases back to their workshop.  Once inside, however, Obidiah's indignation boiled up.

"That was... awful!" he cried, being careful to set down the cases first.  "What a load of arrogant...self-centered...twits!  Why didn't you chastise that lot?"

Master Daniel smiled and shook his head, "It would do no good."

"But they need to know how wrong they are!"  Obi puffed, so outraged, it was difficult to find constructive words.

"They would not understand," replied Master Daniel.  "So far, you have attended me with groups where those who think they already know are outnumbered by those who wish to learn.  This group, however," he spread his hands in a gesture of inevitability, "was overly-concentrated with those of little skill and much inaccurate knowledge."

Obi growled in frustration and paced the stone floor.  "They were arrogant without any reason.  They were disrespectful.  They wasted our time!"

Master Daniel smiled and held Obi's shoulders, "Yes.  It is up to us to find those who are willing and able to learn.  We cannot let ourselves be frustrated by the, how you say, the 'twits'."

313

Imagine a city where more than half its population has left within the past forty years.  The people who remain cannot afford the upkeep of their houses, nor do they even wish to keep them at all.  If a family still lingers in the city, they will dump their home at the first chance.  A house, for example, in the middle of what had been a thriving part of the city, was dumped for $12,000--more than $50,000 less than assessed value, which was already tens of thousands less than what it should have been.  The house was snapped up by professional landlords and stuffed with tenants, including a family of ten in an illegal apartment in the attic.  The attic burned.  The house emptied.  Although it was salvageable, who wanted to invest in a partly burned home on a street where anyone could easily purchase crack?  Windows were broken and the house was pillaged of materials.  Eventually, the grand, 3,500 square foot house, built in the 1800s, was torn down.  A weedy lot remains.

Now, put a natural wonder nearby.  So nearby that in the quiet of the night, from that weedy lot, you can hear the thundering waters of nature, cascading over a mighty cataract.  Welcome to Niagara Falls, New York.

296

Of all the lies movies have taught me over the years, I think the worst is that I believed that I could do anything in a reasonable amount of time.  I didn't think that I could do it within the space of a movie--that's ridiculous--but I did believe the movie time suggestion that within my lifetime I could accomplish goals.  Lies.  Dirty, rotten lies.

My days are spent on a treadmill.  My brain, on the shortest treadmill of them all.  Repetition, repetition, repetition.  Nothing accomplished.  Dishes pile up again and again.  Laundry.  Mail.  Shower.  Eat.  Sleep.  Dentist and doctor and optometrist appointments.  Repeat.  Holidays.  Repeat.  The things I dreamed of doing remained out of my grasp for the daily repetition.  My brain rehashed what it wanted and wondered why the hell wasn't I making progress?  I should have accomplished by now!  Where had the time gone?  Why couldn't I get motivated?  Why couldn't I get out of welding to accomplish my dream of being a professional dancer?  What happened to making the band and winning the hearts of millions?  Shouldn't I be able to save Christmas, or teach the town to dance or preserve the human race?  Goddamn movies.  Lies.

295

After rolling over and flipping her pillow for the fourth time, Sara gave it up as a bad job and got out of bed.  She had the feeling that important life was happening without her.  Spending wakeful hours in bed only made her retread the same worn paths to frustration, so she wrapped herself in her comforter and went to her window.

It was unlikely that there would be any activity out on her street.  Sara lived in a quiet suburb, and the sidewalks were rolled up by 9:00 pm, but she couldn't shake that feeling that there was some spark of life just outside her sphere.  Her dresser sat under the window, and if she pushed it back slightly, she could sit, her feet on the baseboard heat, and lean her elbows on the windowsill to look outside.  Despite the cold November night air, she cranked open one casement window and arranged her comforter over her head.  The baseboard heat rose and filled her cocoon while the night chilled her nose and cheeks.

The street was predictably dark and no lights on in the three houses she could see; it was, after all, after two in the morning.  Sara sat and dreamed with her eyes open of adventure.

276

The phone was getting hot against James' ear and he kept glancing at the clock.  This phone call to his mother was supposed to be short.  A quick question, a clear answer, and off to shopping, but these conversations were never short.  James closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe.

"I'm trying to convince your father to sell this place."

James' eyes flicked open.  "What?  Why?  I..."

"What would happen if one or both of us had to go to a nursing home?'

"Nursing home?  You..."

"They make you spend all your money and then the put you on Medicaid.  It would all disappear.  They'd take it all.  Plus, it's so much work for your father.  Ever since he had The Incident, he hasn't been quite right."

"What do you mean?  Is Dad..."

"He forgets things.  Your grandmother, God bless her, was showing symptoms of dementia for years; symptoms I didn't recognize at the time, but they were there."

James rubbed his forehead.  "Are you saying that Dad has demen..."

"He asked me what temperature to set the thermostat for bed, and he knows that."

"Well, that's not..."

"Whenever I mention selling, all I get is silence, anyway.  I'll keep working on him."

266

Sophie heard them whispering, she just didn't care.

"She's doing it again."

"Shh!  She'll hear you!"

"She never does.  Look!  Watch her!"

Two pairs of eyes popped over the side of Sophie's cubicle.  Sophie knew the two office bitches were watching and listening.  And giggling.  What did Sophie care?  Let 'em.  It wasn't like she wanted to stay in this padded, open-topped cell for one more second, much less for the rest of her life.

265

Dee heard crickets and leaves rustled by the wind.  Traffic, always.  The computer's laboring mechanics, always.  The fluorescent lights, always.  But crickets and leaves and birds, too.

She opened her eyes and tried to really see, but that was more difficult.  All Dee saw was MESS and UNDONE and IF ONLY.  Dee sighed and closed her eyes again.  Crickets, wind blowing softer and harder and softer, a bird.

262

"It feels like I'm going to jump right out of my skin," Sonja said through clenched teeth.

"Mmm..."  The counselor made a note.  "And then what?"

She perched on the edge of the sofa, "And then my skeleton's going to punch you in the smarmy face."

"Mmm..."  Another note.  "Would that make you feel better?"

"I hate that you never look up at me."

"Mmm..."  A glance over her glasses and back to the notebook.  "You don't think I look up at you enough?"

"At all, you..."  Sonja cut herself off.  The frustration was rising, and it felt like the counselor was baiting her.

255

The end comes too fast, no matter how long it takes.  Life takes far longer than anyone imagines, and days flit by like a calendar in a breeze.  Marjoram was feeling the passage of time and anxiousness bubbled up inside of her.  It was always at the worst moments, Marjie felt, that she decided her life was being wasted.  At this moment, it was being wasted in a conference room on the sixth floor of an office building in a city that needed so much work it made Marjie cry when she thought too hard about it.  The desire to be out of the room, out of the building, out into the street to even just pick up garbage was threatening to overwhelm her.  A polite cough to her right nearly made her yelp, but her fellow worker only pursed her lips in a smile and gave a glance to Marjoram's bouncing leg.  Marjie played the dance, smiled and apologized in a mutter, though in her head she swore at the lady.

225

It would have been a fine evening with anyone other than Greg.  Sharon had never been to an underground nightclub before and she thought the sweaty, sticky atmosphere and thumping music was great.  She leaned in and cupped her hand to Greg's ear, "Would you like to dance?"  Greg rolled his eyes and went back to looking at the other patrons, having far more fun than Sharon.  She kept watching Greg.  He scratched his ear with his left index finger, drawing his hand casually in front of his face, sniffing it on the way by.  She wondered why she was there, or anywhere, with him.

222

A long time ago, in a room a lot like this one, an adventure began.  Ben didn't know it was an adventure, most adventures start without much fanfare, but that evening was the beginning.  If Ben had known it, he would have prepared better, but what can you do?  Living your life on your toes is no way to live.  Not all the time, anyway.  It's very tiring.

Ben was, as a matter of fact, the opposite of prepared.  He hadn't showered, he had fought with his younger brother, and he didn't come down to dinner when called, so he was hungry.  Ben thought he had lost his house key, which he kept on a blue lanyard, and he knew his father would be furious if he couldn't find it.  Ben was tearing apart his room.  In the initial flurry, he had covered the key and lanyard with a dirty t-shirt and now, in his frustration, he kicked the dirty shirt, including key, under his bed.

211

I was always envious of bands that shot to stardom.  Comics who landed on Saturday Night Live.  Actors who won an Oscar on their first movies.  Assholes.

I realized later that these "overnight successes" weren't really.  These were people who worked and slaved unrewarded for years, decades before finding fame and glory.  The "sudden" part was only my perspective.  I began hating instead people who made home videos that went viral, lottery winners and fortune inheritors.  Those were the undeserving twats.

I mostly hated them while I was in my slaving away years.  Who every knows if your unpaid work will ever pay off.  A creative art isn't like working your way up in a company.  In a company, you get paid no matter what you do.  When you're working in a creative art, you practice and practice and work at your craft completely unpaid and unrecognized without any inkling if it will pay off eventually at all.

Standing in my crappy apartment surrounded by crumpled notes and a beat to hell drum set I was the asshole.  All my parents' disheartening advice was sneaking back into my brain, this time betraying me even more by using my own voice to say it.

200

Not for the first time, Natalie wondered why she was still teaching.  Not for the last time, she gave up grading to simply wander around her apartment, wishing she were less concerned about her students.  It took her days to grade a simple group of essays.  Every time she received a new set of assignments, she promised herself that she would comment lightly and get it done fast, but that never happened.  Natalie commented and explained and gave pointers at every step.  She couldn't help it, and it was killing her and reducing her salary to less than minimum wage.  She thought, not for the first time and not for the last, that being a waitress might be more profitable and less stressful.

189

Stone and moss lay cool against her check, the tears warm from her eyes.  Despite the tears, Maggie still thought rationally, and she knew that this frustration was only making it worse.  The magic wouldn't come and thinking about how the magic wouldn't come bound up her magic even more.  Maggie turned her forehead into the dustiness of the dry leaves and pounded her fist into the ground with a vaguely satisfying thump, again and again, until the thumping sound was what mattered.  Thump and a slight crunch of leaves.  Dull thump that vibrated the packed earth just a little bit.  Her fist's thump that carried up her arm and smudged her pinky finger with dirt.  Thump, thump, thump, until the tears stopped and Maggie didn't notice because her mind was on the thump, thump, thump and the sound and the feel that it made.  Thump, thump, thump, like her heart and the world and the life and suddenly the magic was back because Maggie finally stopped thinking about magic and only thought about the rhythm of her fist and the earth.