Everyone's Tired Of Apartment Renovation Posts

It looks like we're approaching the halfway point. Demolition on the bathroom and kitchen appears to be complete and it's time to start building the finished product. What does this mean?? Absolutely nothing! Here's the bathroom and kitchen, what they were and what they are. What they will be, only Nilda knows:

Defending Jon & Kate

I know everyone's been talking about it, but the season premiere last Sunday had me down all week. Even with all the media hype, I thought the show would be just another normal episode. I at least expected to see them put on a happy face for the cameras. But then the show started, and it was all about how their marriage was falling apart and they were barely speaking to each other. It was way better than a magazine article could be. I actually felt sorry for Kate, and that scared me the most.

The best part of the show is Jon. Kate's transparent in her desire to keep doing the show and pursuing her career, and it colors all of her actions. But Jon has made it blatantly clear that he no longer wants to do the show, making you think he'll just stop participating. But there he was on the season premiere, bearing his soul to the camera. The show was always an overly intrusive look into the lives of these people and it still is. In many ways, the show is better than it's ever been before.

Wallpaperin'

Tonight, Matt came over after work and helped us wall paper the "accent wall" in the bedroom. "Helping" isn't really an appropriate description. It was more like Moses leading the Hebrews out of Egypt, or Anne Sullivan teaching Helen Keller how to say water in The Miracle Worker.

I had a very important job. When it was time to put up a new panel, I put the glue on the wall, and when I needed another beer, I got one for myself. I also served as official project historian and photographer. Yes, I was most essential to the operation.

Here's the state of the bathroom now. It's even worse than before.

Notice how there's a drain plug where the toilet used to be. This means Matt and Brian were "hittin' the drain" as needed. Nilda, not so much. This is me picking what of Matt's stuff I wanted to take while he was working. Thanks for helping, buddy.


This is Matt's plumber's crack.

This is Nilda's.

I have to say, Matt and Nilda did an amazing job, and the wallpaper looks fantastic. And you know that if I like it, Nilda's going absolutely crazy over it.

This post is dedicated to Matt, who helped us out when he knew we'd really need him. Matt, any time you need help around the house, just let me know and I'll be there to drink beer and supervise.

What Hell Hath Wrought

And this is just the bathroom! It went from this...


...to this.

Kind of makes you think that the urine yellow wasn't such a bad choice after all. Then we were told that beneath the hideous tiles on the floor, lied nothing but chunks of broken up concrete. If you dig just a little, there's nothing but small rocks that go all the way to the basement. This means that we get the lovely surprise of having to pour concrete AND get a new tub, since for some reason that is far beyond me, they can't put down a new floor and keep the tub.

Nilda surveys what she has done.

We've barely started the demo, and the apartment's already starting to fill with rubble. I say we give it to charity, since I'm like that.

• Today, I bought a bathtub, researched medicine cabinets, ordered a bathroom faucet and spent hours on line looking at lighting fixtures for the living room. I now know the difference between a chandelier and a pendant light. What's happening to me???
• We had a serious crisis this week - we couldn't find shower fixtures that we like. God, that sounds bad when I say it out loud.
• Nilda and I have realized that whatever fixture or piece we like, we inevitably be the most expensive item there is.
• How on Earth can anyone justify $680 for a shower head? Whoever invented brushed nickel can go to hell.
• We got lucky when we finally found reasonably-priced fixtures at Lowe's. This, of course, meant that we had to go to the Lowe's located in the middle of fucking nowhere Brooklyn.

Looking at the bathroom today, Nilda and I saw that there were pieces of newspaper shoved between the studs, for some reason. I was hoping to find some kind of old story like the kind John Lennon found that formed the basis of Mr. Kite. All I got was a memoriam to Nathan M. Ohrbach from November 1972. Happy Memorial Day, Mr. Ohrbach.

New Rule: No Pink

• I'm not kidding, Nilda, no pink in the new apartment. We had a scare there with the paint in the bedroom, but the "no pink" rule is now in effect and will be strictly enforced.
• Today's first warning sign was an email Nilda sent me today with the subject line, "Honey, I think these would make great accent chairs," with a link to "Sheadon Metallic Hot Pink Accent Chairs." That's right, Nilda had the balls to put "Hot Pink" right in the email.
• Nilda tells me that pink will go perfectly with the blue sofa and the purple bedroom. That is the exact reason that we cannot have pink. Blue and purple are borderline as it is. Throw in anything pink - even a pink pillow - and you might as well have Barbie's dream apartment.
• No, Nilda, pink is not "as valid a color as green and blue and yellow." Her tactical response is to then throw the question back at me, asking, incredulously, "Then what do YOU see in the foyer?," hoping that I'll get so frustrated that I'll give up. What I really see is: "Not pink."
• Nilda just said that I shouldn't write this blog because, when we do get pink in the apartment, either Matt and/or my brother will call me a pussy. Challenge accepted, Nilda. No pink!

Alert!

I have been advised that Operation Stain The Doors Ourselves has been aborted. Apparently, it's not as easy as following the instructions on the can. But it appears that as long as Nilda got to use my dad's nifty little hand sander, everything will be okay. Be alert for further instructions.

I Am Never Painting Again. Ever. Nilda.

The goal was to paint the new bedroom over the weekend, leaving only the wallpapering of one wall. As expected, it did not go well. Luckily, Nilda and I are still married.

Friday Night

• 7:07 pm: I arrive at the new apartment after work, having stopped by Rite Aid to buy more beer. The plan is to paint the trim white tonight, and then paint the walls on Saturday.
• 7:27 pm: After procrastinating as long as possible, Nilda makes me start painting.
• 7:31 pm: I realize how much I hate painting. I'm trying to paint the floorboards but can't seem to keep from painting the floor itself. However much the guy wanted to paint this room, it was totally worth it.
• 7:38 pm: We're going to need more paper towels.
• 7:52 pm: I give up on the floorboards, and start on the molding. It was around this time that I start refusing to make eye contact with Nilda.
• 8:10 pm: I realize that it still hasn't hit me that I'm actually going to be living in this apartment some day.
• 8:35 pm: Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me? How much more painting do we have to do? I may not make it through tomorrow. I am completely serious.
• 9:32 pm: We finally finish. Nilda, I am never painting again. Seriously. Ever. I'm so not fucking kidding.

Saturday

• 9:35 am: I call McDonalds to confirm that breakfast goes until at least 10:30 am.
• 10:20 am: We get to the apartment. I wonder how I ever let Nilda convince me that buying an apartment was a good idea.
• 10:50 am: I finally recognize that the color Nilda has selected is not pink. I think its grayple, a combination of purple and gray. Nilda calls it Barney color.

• 11:04 am: We have to paint two coats???
• 11:14 am: It's not too early to start drinking beer, right? Of course not!

• 11:53 am: I finally get into a groove, motivated by the knowledge that this is the last time I will ever be painting.
• 1:45 pm: Dad stops by on his way to pick up Harley and the kids. He calls Nilda's cell, saying he called her instead of me because he knew I'd be in a bad mood. He says, "Brian just doesn't like the work." At first I'm offended, until I realize he's right.

• 2:02 pm: Tell Nilda that I have to go to Rite Aid to get more painting tape as a rouse to get more beer.
• 2:22 pm: The allegation that "You aren't handy" ceases to have any effect on me. I accept that I have certain talents, but being handy is not one of them. But if you need a legal brief, I'm your guy.
• 3:10 pm: In a surprise twist, Nilda loses it and declares that she will never paint again. I'm as supportive as I can be, until she stops painting so that she can "wash the brushes" and "clean up spots on the floor." You best keep painting, woman! This was your idea!
• 4:07 pm: Nilda and I had learned from a neighbor that this apartment had been occupied by an elderly woman for many years. We take down the name tag on the front door of the apartment, which had clearly had been there for a long time. Goodbye, Mrs. Seidel!
• 4:55 pm: We're finally done.

It Begins

• We finally got the go ahead today from the coop board to renovate the bathroom. That's important because it's the one thing keeping us from moving. Yesterday, Nilda told me that the guy from the management company was rude. Today, he's not so bad.
• Nilda wants to move by the end of May. This means not only packing up everything we own to move within two weeks, but making sure the bathroom is completed within a little over two weeks. Good luck with that, Nilda.
• My dream of not having to paint has been shattered. Apparently, people want a ridiculous amount to paint three walls of a bedroom and wallpaper the fourth. I blame the pink paint. No, Nilda, it's not "lavender," it's pink! And yes, I lost this one.
• We've got rid of the old appliances and fixtures by donating them to B.I.G. ("Build It Green"). This is an amazing company. They come to your apartment and take away all the stuff you don't want. For free!!

• Here's a picture of the new curtains Nilda got for the bedroom at a ridiculously low price at some kind of a design show. I am advised that they are "goooooorgeous!" and directed to look at the "greek key trim," whatever the hell that is.

• I knew I was in trouble when Nilda told me on the phone to stop by Best Buy on my way home and "go ahead and get that video game" I had been talking about, since "I had a hard week." And Stella was over, so you know that whatever she bought was soooo gooorgeous that her mom had to come look at it, and that's never a good sign.
• I was made to play Guitar Hero.
• Here's the new fridge so far. It's not much, but it's a start. Operation Fill It With Beer is not yet a success, but it's a start. Hopefully, it will at least get us through painting this weekend.

Martha Mason

Martha Mason became paralyzed from the neck down when she was 11 years old, as the result of polio. She spent the next 60 years living her life lying down in an iron lung, so she could breathe. She passed away last week, at the age of 71, in her hometown of Lattimore, North Carolina.

Mason chose to live in an iron lung, preferring it to tubes down her throat or hospital stays. She had teachers come to her home and she graduated first in her class in high school. She attended college at Wake Forest, participating in classes by intercom, and graduated first in her class as well. She spent then moved back home and wrote for a local paper, dictating to her mother, until her father became ill and her mother no longer had time.

She was well known in the community. She had friends over for dinner (she ate lying down) and people would come to visit before or after big events like weddings. The fire department would check up on her when the electricity went out, to make sure her backup generator worked.

Small town life was hard for such a smart woman, until Mason got a voice activated computer in the mid-1990s. For the first time, was able to really interact with the world. She wrote a book about her life in an iron lung that was published in 2003, called "Breathe." Her friend Mary Dalton, a professor at Wake Forest (the one sitting next to her in the picture below) directed a documentary about her in 2005 called "Martha In Lattimore." She was survived only by her two aides, who she considered family.

"My story's been one of joy, one of wonderful experiences," she said. "It has not been perfect. But that's what people need to understand -- that I have had a good life." She said that by the time were available, she had already established a lifestyle in an iron lung. Here is her NYTimes obituary and an ABC News article about her.

Grrr

The lawyer is late to the deposition. Now I might not be able to finish as early as I had hoped, which sucks because I need to finish a brief this afternoon. This is how I feel:

Congrats To Us

Happy second anniversary yesterday, Nilda! I love you. I buy you a house!

Frente!

I can't stop listening to this band right now. It's this Australian band that briefly had a hit cover version of New Order's Bizarre Love Triangle in the mid-90s. I love the singer's voice. It sounds like freshman year of college. They fell off the map for a long time and are not available on itunes. I've finally found them on youtube.

The New Fridge

I shall fill it with beer.

Justice Souter's Retirement

Here is the text of Justice Souter's letter to the president announcing his retirement:

"Dear Mr. President:

When the Supreme Court rises for the summer recess this year, I intend to retire from regular active service as a Justice, under the provisions of 28 US.C. § 371(b)(l), having attained the age and met the service requirements of subsection(c) of that section. I mean to continue to render substantial judicial service as an Associate Justice.

Yours respectfully,

David Souter"

I wondered what "the provisions of 28 US.C. § 371(b)(l)" were, so I looked them up. Yeah, I'm cool like that. Turns out that federal judges, if they serve on the bench long enough, are entitled to receive their annual salary for the rest of their life. So Justice Souter, who's retirement was on the cover of every major newspaper today, made sure in his letter that he confirmed his pension, like any smart employee would.

I'll bet he had a lawyer help him write this letter.