Venting

The reason this post is called Venting is because I didn’t want there to be any confusion. I don’t know where your mind wanders to every now and again, but I wanted to make sure no one took a quick glance at this picture in passing and thought “Is Jeff posting one of his -oscopy before pictures?”

Well if there’s such a thing as a vent-oscopy™ then yes.

What you’re in fact looking at is the before picture of the vent from my dryer to the outside world.

Here’s the thing. When we did our big fancy remodel a few years ago, we got fancy new appliances because it’s just money amirite?

Anyway, there’s a sensor on the dryer control panel that lights up Christmas tree red that says "check air flow." It used to only come on once in awhile, and being the Mr. Fixit kind of guy you know me to be I attended to it the way I attend to most mechanical things that need fixin'.

I ignored it.

But then, after five years, that little red light became a regular thing. Apparently just swiping the lint filter clean every now and again—which i actually do know how to do—isn’t enough.

It just so happened we were on the schedule for our heating and air conditioning service to come out to inspect and clean the main system ducts in the attic. And of course, we uttered the three most dangerous words you can ever say to a contractor or repair service.

“While you’re here…”

They came out, cleaned all the ducts in the attic and then went to work showing off their magic roto-duster thing on the dryer vent.

As you can see from the after picture, this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Sparkling clean, sensor light off and good to go for another year since we’re now on the annual plan.

I’m not bragging here and I’m also not posting pictures, but I think you should also know that all my personal -oscopy pictures are just as sparkling clean as this one.

You're welcome.

Breaking the code

Hard as it is to believe, there are actually many skills and talents I simply don’t have, or have been unable to master.

I can’t juggle.

I dance like everyone’s looking.

My artistic abilities are limited to drawing crooked straight lines.

I play the guitar badly, but at least it’s only three chords.

And when I sing, the dogs howl (in pain) at the moon.

But for all those things I can’t do, I can do one thing better than just about anyone you know: load a dishwasher.

In what can only be described as a freakishly Rain Man-esque talent, I can pack more into a dishwasher than you or my family would think possible. When someone else tries their dishpan hands at it, there’s usually still a pile of dirty dishes left in our fabulous, deep farmer sink we installed during the year of the remodel. I think because the sink is so deep, people who shall not be named feel it’s okay to leave a lot of dishes in there because at a casual glance, they’re out of view.

Anyway, then I have to go to the kitchen, rearrange the dishes in the dishwasher and fill up all that newfound space with the dishes in the sink.

The other skill I have is I know when dishes in the washer are dirty and when they’re clean. Apparently other members of my household do not possess the laser focus and McGyver-like resourcefulness that would let them suss that out.

After all, it would involve opening the dishwasher door and looking in. What are we, detectives?

So my son, in between his Hollywood moving and shaking, and wheelin’ and dealin’, came up with a code. It involves a magnet, with a design by Mike Mitchell (also a Mondo artist), that used to be on the trunk lid of his car before he sold it to Carmax.

The hand magnet takes its place of honor along with my Springsteen On Broadway magnet, and my wife's "I am Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." magnet.

The code is elegant in its simplicity: thumbs up for clean dishes, thumbs down for dirty dishes. And so far it's working like a charm.

The problem still remains that, for some reason, because I have this gift everyone expects me to do my precision loading of the dishwasher every night—even if I didn't participate in any way in dirtying the dishes. So I've developed a simple, easy to understand code of my own to let them know when I will and won't be their nightly clean up crew.

All I need to use it is a magnet with a different finger.

Getting lit

Contrary to what you may have been brought up to believe, it's what's on the outside that counts. At least when it comes to landscape lighting.

If you've been following this blog for any amount of time—and if you have, you might want to look into a Netflix subscription—you already know we went through a rather substantial remodel a couple years ago. If you'd care to refresh your memory about it, especially the parts where strangers marched through my house starting at sunrise, giant dumpsters blocked the street and the word "budget" lost all meaning, you can read up on it here, here and here.

While many great things came out of the remodel, like our new whisper-quiet Bosch dishwasher, a master bathroom that can accommodate (or is that a-commode-date?) more than one person at a time, about 50 sq. ft. more of living room and a bitchin' kitchen, one thing we unintentionally lost was our exterior lighting.

Since we were putting in a new electrical panel and circuit breakers, upping the amps (not that having circuits blow every time three appliances ran at the same time for 20 years wasn't fun) and rewiring the electrical, we also upgraded the outdoor lighting transformer. The one we had was over 20 years old, and the hamsters and hand crank that ran it were both getting worn out. So hello to a brand new, digital whammy-jammy transformer that immediately blew out the line to our existing exterior lights.

Even though we didn't let the fact we had no budget for many things during the process stop us, we literally had no budget left to fix the exterior lights. So for the past couple years, the only outside lights on the house have come from the inside. We do have plenty of overly sensitive sensor lights around, so if you come near the place they light up like Bret Kavanaugh at a frat party. But they're just a poor substitute for attractive, illuminating exterior light that increases the value of the house, says, "Hey, I see you out there." and makes the neighbors oooh and aaahhh at the place as they take their evening drives.

Right now I'm researching what seems like thousands of new fixtures on hundreds of web pages while our incredible electricians from the remodel are in standby mode. Hopefully I'll be able to flip the switch on the job soon.

I don't expect my house will look like the one in the top picture when it's done. But I'm hoping it'll at least look better than this one.

See you next fall

January 1st and I have what you might call a tumultuous relationship. Oh sure, I'm always happy when it comes around, but then something inevitably happens to break the mood.

For example last New Year's Day, I found myself in the ER with my blood pressure somewhere between steam coming out of a pressure cooker and a lovely hillside view. That was because at the time, I'd been prescribed a new med which, come to find out, funny thing, I was deathly allergic to. Doctors, amIrite?

Anyway, this new year the tradition continued. We got home from a lovely time at our annual January 1st brunch with the usual suspects. I was in the kitchen by the fabulous new farmer's sink we put in during our remodel a couple years ago, and turned around to walk back into the living room.

Unbeknownced to me, my teeny, tiny, virtually invisible 90-lb. German Shepherd had stealthily snuck up behind me and was standing there. When I turned to go, I went ass-over-teakettle (hence the picture) into a wall, the refrigerator and finally landed face down on the kitchen floor like a bag of rocks.

Physical comedy was never my strong suit.

My son happened to be sitting in a chair that faces our open kitchen and saw the entire event. He quickly came over to ask if I was ok, which I was. Besides my knee, arm, back and cheek, the only thing that was injured was my pride. And my until then perfect tour en l'air (look it up).

So bruised but undaunted, I continue into the new year with a brand new resolution—to try to be more careful and aware of my surroundings every January 1st.

And look both ways while crossing the kitchen.

The Super Bowl revisited

I had two thoughts about a blogpost on Super Bowl Sunday.

First was sit down and create an entirely new post that would have humor, pathos, and speak to sportsmanship and the game as a metaphor for life.

Second, I thought I could just recycle a post I'd already written and crack open a cold one.

Guess which one I chose?

I've written a few times about the Super Bowl, here and here for example. But there's another post I had about it, one that expresses a universality we can all relate to. That speaks to an experience we've all had and continue to have on a daily basis.

And most importantly, again, means I don't have to come up with a new one.

So have a seat and take a read. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder where I came up with the phrase "toilet envy."

Please to enjoy.

Own a home, and you'll find yourself shopping for things you never shopped for before.

Like a new toilet.

Now, I've never been a toilet connoisseur. More of a journeyman really, just using whichever one happened to be available at the moment. You know, "the moment."

But my house has three bathrooms and four people, so the law of averages had to catch up eventually. Since the toilet in our master bathroom has decided to take a leak of it's own all over the floor every time it's flushed, it was time to aquaint myself with the plumbing section at Lowe's.

After some serious research, including what I'll call "faux test drives", this is the one that bowled me over. Yeah, I said it.

It's the Kohler Memoirs Comfort Height Toilet with Stately Design.

And why shouldn't a toilet be stately?

Now that I'm forced to actually give thought to it, turns out there are some things I don't like about the toilet I have, and some features I want in a new one.

For starters, I want one that feels like a La-Z-Boy recliner. Something comfortable. Something I can spend a lot of time on. After all, it's not just a toilet. It's also a reading chair.

One of the many reviews I've read said, "Looks good and flushes well." If only we could all say that about ourselves.

I also like the comfort height. I'm not potty training anymore, I've got it down pretty good. So I don't want to feel like I'm sitting on a trainer. And sometimes, those few seconds you save not having to situate yourself so far down make the difference between, well, they make the difference.

The only thing I don't like about this big, tall, comfortable crapper is the price. It's anywhere between $750. and $1000. depending where I buy it. Not including what it'll cost me to have it installed.

I feel a bit embarrassed about being so excited about this purchase. However that embarrassment is trumped by the cases of toilet envy I know I'll be creating once everyone who visits our house spends a little quality time with the new Kohler.

Toilet envy. Yeah, I said it.

Slumber party of one

On the list of things I love in the world, right at the top along with air conditioning, the Fastrak lane and good water pressure are naps.

If you've been following this blog for a while—and really, besides the writing is there any reason not to?—you know this isn't the first time I've written about naps. There was this post from back in 2014. But like money and love, naps are the universal language. I'm sure this won't be the last time I write about them.

As you can probably tell by now, I had a stellar nap today. I really had no say in the matter. One minute there I was sitting in the comfy of my favorite reading chair, reading the newest Stephen King book and trying to keep my eyes open (which had nothing to do with the book), and the next my head was hitting the pillow in the bedroom and I was out for two and a half hours.

Clearly, I'm not a power napper. Those little twenty minute catnaps experts keep saying are supposed to energize you? Not so much. They do nothing but make me groggy and unable to think. Which a lot of people think is my natural state.

The good news is after a long nap, I wake up refreshed and ready to tackle what the day has in store for me. Except maybe a good night's sleep. It's the cruel joke of a great nap—I pay for the daytime sleep with no nighttime sleep. I'll be up for hours because another thing my long nap does is take the edge off the sleepy.

Many times at work, I've felt myself start to nod off at my desk. And if I didn't share an office with three other people, I might just turn out the lights, close the door (yes, I have a door) and grab a shorter-than-I'd-like nap.

Right now my agency is undergoing a remodel, you know, to an open office space to make sure no one including me has doors. Don't get me started. Anyway, maybe they'll be forward thinking enough to build out a few nap rooms where people can go recharge during the day. Otherwise, I can just grab a few quick zzzz's the same place I always do.

In the status meetings.

Spoiler alert

First of all, for some reasons probably having to do with personal vanity and self-image, it's important to me you know this is not the front spoiler on my car. The scrapes and scratches on my front spoiler are much more symmetrical and artistic in their own unique, random way.

Pardon my Seinfeld-ness, but (high-pitched, whiny, East-coast voice) what is it with designing front spoilers so low? Don't they have curbs where these cars come from?

I drive a Lexus ES 350. Despite the fact you see them coming and going it's a nice car, but really nothing more than a Camry dressed up for Saturday night. Still, I like the smooth ride, the burled walnut, the rear-window shade I've never used and the fact it came pre-wired for SiriusXM. Even though it'll never give me the performance thrill my old Audi A6 did, before it caught fire, as far as cars go I file it under things could be worse.

What I don't like about my Lexus is how low the front spoiler is. It scrapes on curbs. Parking space blocks. Driveways that aren't properly angled. Speedbumps. Dips in the road. In other words, almost anything a front spoiler would be in proximity to.

I have a body shop I go to that's inexpensive and does great work. And when I tell them it's out-of-pocket and not through my insurance company, they give me even more of a break. They're located senseless-murder-district adjacent, so the overhead is low (no pun intended) and they can offer great rates. Sadly, they know me there because I've had to have the front spoiler repainted three times since I've owned the car.

I suppose I could choose to not let it bother me, and just go about my day not thinking about it. But in my heart, like I know the sky is blue, every time I'm behind the wheel I can't stop thinking about the fact I'll scrape it again. Probably pulling out of the repair shop driveway.

The Lexus is the latest black car in a series of them I've owned. And the white scrapes, while unavoidable, aren't a good look. I can only take it for so long.

So I've been looking for something higher. A little more off the ground. Which puts me squarely in the crossover/SUV arena. To date I haven't found anything I like and that I can afford. That's mainly because I can't afford anything in life since we remodeled two bathrooms, our living room and gave the kitchen a complete makeover.

If I'd only put a V6 and a steering wheel next to the microwave I'd be set.

But I'm determined not to let it get me down. Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you about my dogged persistence and laser-like focus when I set my mind to doing something.

Unless it's losing weight or vacuuming. Then, you know, screw it.

Anyway, I'll keep scouring AutoTrader and the OEM CPO sites (yeah, I work on car accounts) for something I can fall in love with and afford. Like my high school girlfriend.

Until I do, every time I hear the sound of my spoiler scraping the ground, I'll pretend it's my own personal reminder that the faster I can unload this thing, the sooner I won't have to hear that noise anymore.

Like my high school girlfriend.

Nice rack

One of the great joys remodeling the kitchen is paying the thousands of dollars in bills that seem like they'll be coming in for years after I'm dead. No, wait, that's not how I wanted to start this.

One of the great joys of remodeling is I get to pick out new appliances. There we go. And one of my best choices was our brand spanking new Bosch dishwasher.

Just to give you a little background, because I know you were hoping I would, our dishwasher is what started the entire kitchen remodel project. I won't get into all the gory details, because I already did that here. Suffice it to say eleven months and $20K over budget later, it was the right choice.

The Bosch is the third dishwasher we've had. The first that came with the house was a Westinghouse with a black door that clashed with the cabinets and counters. It sounded like a 747 taking off when it was running. So we replaced it with a snow white Maytag dishwasher, that was much quieter, went with the kitchen decor (such as it was) and worked fine for years.

Then one day, the handle broke when we tried to open it. We called a repair guy, who told us we could spend the money to get a new handle/door on it, or we could just use a dinner knife to unlock it by wedging it in and pushing down. Since we already had the knife, we decided to save the money. Besides, it felt a little McGyver-y and it was fun. At the beginning.

Soon after, we were unloading it again and the top rack broke its railings, almost crashing all the glassware in it to the linoleum floor. We could've had a nice down payment on a new dishwasher for what it would've cost to fix it, so for years we adapted to holding up the top rack with one hand, after we opened the door with the knife, and loading it with the other.

The McGyver-y part was starting to wear off.

Fast forward to the remodel. Now keep in mind it'd been years since I'd been appliance shopping, so it was a whole new world of dishwasher technology for me. I'm standing in the vast showroom at Friedman's Appliances, and our salesman—ask for Johnny—shows me the Bosch. I believe the sound I heard in that moment was the angels singing.

First of all, the Bosch is whisper quiet. So quiet in fact, if it weren't for that little red light I'd never know it's on.

Next, the controls are on the top of the door instead of the front. So whether it's running or not, it's just a slab of uncluttered, shiny, stainless steel sitting there looking beautiful (a skill I happen to know a little something about).

While those features were important, the final one that sealed the deal was when Johnny (ask for Johnny) showed me the third rack. I didn't know whether to cry or faint with happiness. After years of trying to figure out how to put soft plastic lid tops and smaller items in a place they wouldn't melt or fall through to the bottom, this opened up a whole new world for me.

I just read the last couple sentences and I'm thinking the same thing you are about my getting a life. But I digress.

The third rack could've been part of my immensely popular and often read What Took So Long series of posts. But because of the impact it continues to have on me, I thought it needed a post of its own.

If you've followed me on here for any length of time—and if you have you really should pay more attention to what's going on in the world around you, because it's not pretty—then you know I'm somewhat of a dishwasher savant. I look at the pile of disorganized dirty dishes, and in my head I see them all placed perfectly in the dishwasher. I've never used the "there isn't anymore room" excuse. There's always enough room if you do it right.

Judgmental much?

The third rack makes my life easier. Ask anyone that knows me—I'm all about easy. While it brings me joy every time I open the door, there's now an entirely new strategy to employ when I'm loading the dishes. The third rack has a spray spinner attached to the bottom of it, which means the items in the second rack have to be low enough to clear it. It's dishwasher Tetris figuring it out.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I've spent enough time rambling on about this.

Don't even get me started on the front-loading, full-size, stacked washer and dryer. That's for another day.

Christmas past

As you may know if you follow this blog, and if you do maybe it's time to stop reading and seek gainful employment, we've recently finished a major kitchen remodel. The kind that makes me wonder how we lived with the old, small, inefficient kitchen so long. The kind that makes me wonder how many lifetimes I'll need to pay for it.

In the video above you can see the new peninsula we added. Well, you'd see it if it weren't covered with the mélange of Christmas ornaments that were carefully taken off the tree, and are now waiting to be boxed up and shoved back on the top shelf of the garage where they'll live until next year, neighbor to the Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations.

It's a lot of ornaments. But it was a big tree.

As I've written about here, I have mixed feelings about packing up the holiday. I like the joy and spirit of the season, but then I can only take so much joy and spirit. It's a short ride from "Merry Christmas" to "Bah-humbug."

The good news is every time this ritual is officially over, I feel like the slate is clean once again and I can start the new year in earnest, breaking resolutions then promising to start them for real the following week.

The beauty of it is I only have to do this fifty times. Then it's Christmas all over again.

Boxing lessons

What you're looking at here isn't actually my garage. It's a representative picture, you know, to give you an idea of what my actual garage looks like. In the same way, for example, a picture of Chris Hemsworth would be a representative picture of me.

You know I can hear you laughing, right?

When we started our kitchen/bathroom/living room remodel almost a year ago, the first thing on our to-do list was pack up everything and get it out of the house before the contractors came in to demo the place. After several runs to Box Bros., daily struggles with the tape dispenser and inhaling more marker fumes than I care or can remember while we were labeling them, we finally got it done.

That was then, and this is now. The remodel is complete, and looks fabulous.

But while the remodel proper is finished, we still have sixteen boxes sitting in the garage that have yet to be unpacked and moved back into the new kitchen.

So what's in the boxes? Who the hell knows.

We labeled them with the main items (Did I mention the markers? I can't remember), but there are lots of little gems also packed into each one just waiting to be rediscovered. The box marked "Mixing bowls" might also have clay sculptures the kids made in second grade. The "dishtowels" box could also have a stack of unpaid bills from last January waiting for us. The "Cups and saucers" box is probably filled with....well, that one is likely cups and saucers.

The thinking is one thing at a time, and do everything in the right order. First, we have to clear some room in our new kitchen cabinets so we can put away whatever is hiding in those sixteen boxes. We have yet to do this. And with the holidays upon us, it's a safe bet the boxes in the garage holding Christmas decorations are going to be unpacked way before the remodel ones. Right after we clear some room for the Christmas tree. Don't get me started.

I imagine we'll hit the year mark—January 26 to be exact—before we even start on the remodel boxes. But we'll get to unpacking them just as soon as we're able. And who knows, once we get motivated and start ripping those suckers open, we may even decide to really surprise ourselves and tackle a box or two that's been there since we moved in.

Twenty years ago.

One month later...

Tomorrow is one month since my last post here at Rotation and Balance.

Although you may not have been consciously aware of it, I'm sure you felt a disturbance in the force. An unexplainable void in your life, you know, besides money, a loving relationship and worthwhile employment. For the last thirty days, you've had that creeping feeling the world was a little less entertaining. A lot less funny. Deep down, on the inside, a small, quiet voice was telling you something was missing.

Well now you know.

This isn't the first time I've taken a break from posting. I've done it before, although rarely for this length of time. Sometimes it's pure laziness (most times). Other times it's that I just don't have anything interesting to write about.

Of course, if I let that stop me I'd never write anything.

I have to say that, like you, I haven't exactly missed it. For starters it's been a busy month what with a home remodel going on. Do to refinishing hardwood floors in our house, we've had to move out, move into an airbnb, move out of an airbnb and move back into the house with kids and dogs in tow all in the space of the last ten days.

So that's a hectic third of the month right there.

I've also been enjoying taking time to read and catch up with other ad-bashing blogs, like Round Seventeen, the Ad Contrarian and Ad Aged. They all say a lot of things I'd have said if I'd been posting the past month. Only they're saying them better than I would have.

The truth is I've started to post a number of times in the past month, but nothing really interested me enough to see it through. To quote Stephen King, one of my writing heroes, every false start felt like I was shoveling shit from a sitting position.

Not that it's ever stopped me before.

All of this is to say the month of no blogposts is over. I'm getting back in the saddle, and ready to ride into better metaphors than this one. I think all our lives are going to be better now that I've made this decision.

And if that turns out not to be the case, there's always next month.

A pleasant run-in

Almost seven years ago, I wrote a post about running into people out of context. That is to say in an environment where you don't expect to see them. It's astonishing to me. Not running into people. The fact I've been cranking this thing out for seven years.

Anyway, running into someone I didn't expect to see happened to me again today.

As you may or may not know, the wife and I decided I should work the rest of my life to pay for the extensive kitchen, living room and bathroom remodel we currently have under way at the ponderosa. Contractors, subcontractors, city inspectors and assorted strangers come and go from our house from seven in the morning until four in the afternoon.

Our dogs hate it. But at least they're not paying for it, so quit your barking.

If you've ever done a remodel, which I hadn't until this one, you know part of the process is finding time to pick out accessories like faucets, drawer pulls and lighting. Which is how the wife and I happened to find ourselves on a Saturday afternoon date at Rejuvenation in Culver City, scoping out the many stylish, unexpected and just plain bitcin' lamps and lighting fixtures they have.

Wandering through the store, a little tired, a lot hungry and somewhat overwhelmed by all the choices, I was oblivious to other shoppers and designers-in-training circling my orbit. Then, out of nowhere, this guy walks by me, and slams into my shoulder as he passes.

There was plenty of room to get by. I'm not gonna lie, I was pissed. I turned around fast, ready to give this guy a piece of my hungry, tired, overwhelmed mind—even though if you ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you it's something I can't afford to give away. When I did, I was met with a big smile on the face looking back at me.

It was my close personal friend Rich Siegel, Round Seventeen blogger extraordinaire and fourth place pole vault champion behind Denys Yurchenko at the Bejing Olympics.

To this day, I think Rich was robbed of the bronze.

Anyway, we introduced the wives, and chatted for a short bit. In our conversation we managed to trash open offices, throw shade on a creative director we both know and talk about the many benefits of freelance over staff positions.

Ad guys. Nothing if not predictable.

Afterwards, Rich and his wife went to Kohler to look at fixtures, toilets and sinks. My wife and I went to Father's Office and had one of their legendary burgers, along with a light citrus-y pale ale with a side of Spanish mushrooms. Spending money always works up a hearty appetite.

So as we continue our adventure shopping for the remodel, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open for Rich or anyone else I don't expect to see out in the real world.

Right after I'm done icing my shoulder.

A slight dust up

I've talked about it a bit on here, but back at the ponderosa we're doing a little remodeling. Hopefully by the end of April, our kitchen, living room and bathroom will have been turned into showcase rooms ready to be featured on Houzz, pinned all over Pinterest and cover-ready for Dwell.

In the process I'm also remodeling my bank account about $20,000 at a time. Don't get me started.

Anyway, when I mentioned to colleagues and friends we were going to do this, they were more than happy to share all sorts of warnings and red flags about what it was going to be like. Since I've never remodeled anything—hard to imagine I know, what with me being so handy and all in that way all Jewish boys who have hands that look like they've never done a day's work in their life are—I had no idea what to expect. Fortunately, with all the best intentions, there was no shortage of people willing to let me know.

Contractors are the worst to deal with.
Having this one proven false has been a great blessing as well as a relief. Our contractors are awesome. We've known about them well before they started the job. They've worked on many of our friends homes, so we had reliable testimonials as to the quality of their work (spectacular). They're honest, hard-working perfectionists with sick senses of humor. And they wield a mean nail gun. What's not to like?

Plan to spend at least a third more than your budget.
First of all, what budget? Second, all the costs we were given up front have pretty much stayed where they were. The exceptions have been the changes we've made in window size, cabinet size, number of outlets, additional features, the nice countertops, etc. Now that I reread that, I might think about stopping with the self-inflicted increases (see bank account remodeling above).

You'll have to move out while the job is being done.
Here's the good news. The way our house is laid out, all the work—with the exception of the bathroom—is on the opposite side from the bedrooms.

So instead of incurring the additional cost of having to live in a hotel for four months, we get to incur the additional inconvenience of living in less than two-thirds of our normal living room space.

It's cozy to say the least.

There is however a big, plastic sheet dividing our cramped living space from areas where the work is being done. It makes a great backdrop for photos, what with all that diffused light. It also comes in handy for my Dexter role-play. Enough said.

There'll be dust everywhere.
I'm sorry to say, on this one they were right. There is dust everywhere. On both sides of the plastic curtain. Inside closed cabinets and drawers. All along picture frames. On the books. The floors. The shelves. Ev-er-y-where. Trying to keep up with cleaning it is the impossible dream. One minute you think you've gotten it all, the next you're writing words with your finger in the thick layer you just noticed on the mantle (the words I wrote were "Someone should really clean this thing").

It's the housekeeping equivalent of spending a day at the beach, then realizing you have sand in places you didn't know you had places.

It's like the guys who take a year painting the Golden Gate bridge, then have to start back in the opposite direction once they get to the other side.

It's like Disneyland when it comes to cleaning it up: it'll never be finished.

You can relax. The box of metaphors is empty.

I have to keep reminding myself all this dust is temporary, but the beautiful home we'll have when it's all done is permanent.

Just like the inhaler and the Claritin.

Taking license

Over the past few weekends, I’ve spent more hours than I care to think about looking for a used—excuse me, certified pre-owned—car for my son. Or daughter. We’ll see whose room is cleaner when I get home.

What struck me about the whole ordeal is how monumentally unpleasant the experience is. Not a revelation if you’ve ever bought a car, but always a surprise to me. I guess it’s because like surgery or Christmas shopping, I don’t do it often enough to remember the amount of pain involved.

On paper, it should be one of the most exciting, fun experiences you can have. You get to test drive lots of different models, pick one that makes you happy, and drive off into the sunset, preferably up a winding coastal road where you can let your right foot loose and see how many curves your new investment wants to hug.

Well, not so fast there Edsel.

Because of an incident at Keyes Toyota years ago, where the wife and I were virtually held hostage for three hours because they wouldn’t give us back our car keys (they were checking it out for trade in—no we didn’t buy there, yes we finally escaped), I’ve been adamant about laying down a few ground rules when car shopping.

The first is never give them my keys.

Here are the others: I don't go inside the dealership and have a seat if I’m just shopping. Instead, I’ll have the salesperson go inside, get their best price and walk it back out to me. I make two things clear—they only have one shot at it, so the number they give me has to be the final offer the first time. And I won’t wait longer than fifteen minutes.

Which brings me to my next rule: I don’t deal with anyone but the salesperson. No closers, no sales managers, no fleet managers coming out the door with their shark tooth smile and hand ready to shake mine. If the salesperson can’t make the deal, meeting his boss isn’t going to help.

Speaking of the deal, I never take the deal. Any number they give me has profit built into it, otherwise they wouldn't be selling it at that price. So even though I've asked them for their best offer, I have no qualms about being the bad guy and letting them know it isn't good enough. I'll try to knock another ten to fifteen percent off whenever number they give me. If they're willing to negotiate, I know they haven't given me their best price (which they never do). If they're not willing to negotiate, there's always another dealer who is—all you have to do is remind them and they usually change their tune. However if they start whining about how they're not making any money on the deal, or ask me to come up just $200 more on my offer, I'm out of there.

With car salespeople it doesn't take much for my bullshit meter to go into the red.

For the time being I've taken a break from car shopping, although I still peruse online to see what's out there. But my time right now is mostly being spent figuring out how to pay for the upcoming kitchen remodel. Plus for the moment we seem to be managing with the cars we have.

But if anyone has a fairly new model, safe car they'd like to sell, we can always talk about it.

C'mon inside and have a seat.

No know how

As I've written about on here before, I'm about to embark on a bold, new, money-sucking, patience-straining, marriage-testing, argument-inducing adventure: my kitchen and living room remodel.

Like everyone who goes down this road of no return, my journey began at Home Depot and Lowe's. The wife and I didn't just go there to get ideas about bathroom vanities, kitchen sinks, drawer pulls and countertops. We were also armed with a list of items from our contractor we had to either purchase or make decisions on before they start.

If you know anything about me, you know I like figuring out how things work and, if needed, could MacGyver a way into building a house from the ground up using only a hammer, spatula, paper straws and lawn grass.

Nah, I'm just funnin' you. I can't put together a bookshelf from Ikea. But I can tell you the first film Jeff Goldblum was in—that's gotta be worth something at some point.

Where was I? Oh, right. So to paraphrase Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire, when it comes to construction I do depend on the knowledge of strangers. Of course it helps if the strangers actually know more than I do. And while there are a lot of scary things about this process, not least among them is the frightening fact I may already have more answers to my questions than the people who work at Home Depot or Lowe's. That just ain't right.

The good news is the big box hardware and lumber stores aren't the only game in town. Fortunately, thanks to a trusted recommendation, we discovered the family-owned Faucets & Fixtures in Orange. They have a quiet little storefront in a not great section of Tustin Avenue that comes nowhere near tipping its hand to the remodeling wonderland waiting inside.

In an experience that was a first, their employees know all about the inventory and are able to answer all the questions. "Yes it comes in polished nickel, but it's plastic-y on the inside." "You can get the one-piece Memoirs toilet, but the two-piece is about $400 cheaper." "That's a stock medicine cabinet, but we can custom build one for you no problem." "The sink is ten inches deep, but the porcelain finish is brighter and thicker on that one." The store has a big selection, yet isn't overwhelming.

I could make a hundred trips to Home Depot and Lowe's, and never get as much done as we accomplished in a couple hours at Faucets & Fixtures with our man Austin.

The point is this-once you've had knowledgable, friendly, patient customer service, there's no going back. It's like going from J.C.Penny to Nordstrom. Stater Bros. to Trader Joe's. Winchell's to Starbuck's (Those are big corporations, but you get my continental drift).

From now on, it's mom and pop, family-owned, highly recommended merchants for all things having to do with the remodel and beyond.

And in case you're looking to win a bar bet, his first movie was Death Wish.

Knock down, drag out

                                          BEFORE                                                                               AFTER

When my pal Janice MacLeod isn't writing about dating, breaking up or Paris, I'm sure she's thinking about what her next literary effort will be. I hope she follows through on one idea she told me about awhile ago. We were talking about her dad and the subject of carpenters came up since that's what he does. She started telling me some of his stories, and mentioned she wanted to write a book called The Secret Life of Carpenters (© Janice MacLeod). From what I could tell, it was going to be a scary book, not to be read at night or during room additions.

The reason that conversation's on my mind is we're about to get started on a remodel here at the ponderosa. And for several reasons, it scares the living daylights (family blog) out of me.

First, as my pal Rich Siegel will tell you, there are things Jews don't do (I think we all remember what happened to the last Jewish carpenter). Anyway, in my house, construction is one of them. Even if it was, I wouldn't remodel my own house. But at least I'd understand what they were doing and know what was going on.

The other thing is when I talk to people who've been through a remodel, they just give me the look. It's the same look you get when you tell someone you're getting married, or buying a house, or having children. The one that says you're about to go through initiation and find out what the club you're joining is like from the inside.

And from what I can tell, it's not pretty.

The consensus seems to be it all comes down to time and money. And how virtually every remodel takes too much of both.

We've saved a little money, but in conversations with our contractors—who we like a lot and come highly recommended by friends and people we trust—we can already see we're going to blow past whatever budget we had (Note to self: avoid the phrase, "While you're here...).

The job is supposed to run about four months. But we're starting right around Thanksgiving because, really, what better time than the holidays to begin knocking down walls and living without hot water. I'm sure the workers taking weeks off for the holidays won't delay the job. Much.

Another thing is I have a hard time seeing the finish line. I look at the plans and it looks great. But I know from the remodel of my daughter's bathroom going on right now that when we start the big job, all I'll see are open walls, exposed pipes, dust and more dust, wires everywhere, and people I don't know traipsing in and out of what was once my kitchen and hopefully will be again.

The good news is I hear it's like having my wisdom teeth out: I go through it once, and then it's done and I can get on with my life painlessly and carefree.

Except in this case, they take the teeth out through my wallet.

Floored

The kitchen, as we know it, cannot continue.

I’ve written here before about the small dip not so gradually turning into a large canyon in our kitchen floor. The time for action has arrived.

And by action, I mean spending money.

We spoke with one contractor my fabulous art director and supermodel friend Imke recommended. We discussed the floor, as well as what a minor kitchen remodel (if there is such a thing) might look like.

SPOILER ALERT: It looks like about thirty grand.

We liked him, but he was slow in getting back to us, although he eventually did.

One problem is our house is 65 years old, and the original plans don’t exist anymore. So we have to pony up about five g’s to an engineer to come draw up new plans to work off of.

Meanwhile, while I’ve been busy trying to figure out how many days I have to work to make this happen, I’ve also been on Yelp looking up contractors. And asking friends for referrals (got any? You know my email).

I’ve never done any kind of remodel on the house, and frankly, I’m terrified at the prospect. Although the idea of taking a sledgehammer to the walls is appealing. Especially if I can draw a picture of one of my former bosses on it before I do it.

Naturally the necessity of the floor repair coincides perfectly with sending my son off to a major university with a check for tuition. I could fix a lot of kitchens for the education he damn well better be getting.

Anyway, I’ll be making calls and setting up contractor appointments in the next couple weeks. Like job interviews, we’ll talk to everyone. Then we’ll make a decision. Then we’ll panic. But at the end of it all, even though we’ll be poorer for the experience, we’ll have a great looking kitchen without a floor that doubles as a skate park.

We’re already tight on the budget. Fortunately, I know the three words you never say to any contractor.

While you’re here…

The big dipper

The photo is slightly misleading since this post is about my kitchen floor, and not a giant sinkhole. But if I don't do something about it soon, it could wind up like that.

When we first bought our house, we did the traditional walk-through before we closed. That's the part of the transaction where you notice all the little things that are wrong you didn't notice before, and the sellers - along with their mother who's acting as their real estate agent - tell you why it's not really a problem so they can close the deal and move on to their next home in Newport Beach. Then you take them to arbitration for trying to pull the wool over your eyes, and you get a judgement in your favor for $10K. How you like me now Duleep and Jamie?!

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway, during the walk through I noticed a small, shallow, hardly worth mentioning little dip in the kitchen floor just in front of the dishwasher. I wasn't even sure I'd felt it, and no, I won't be using the high school girlfriend joke here.

Fast forward sixteen years later, and that dip in the floor is now a small canyon.

We don't know whether to fix it or add a viewing platform.

We're leaning towards fixing it.

The problem is, our house was built in 1949, and the kitchen floor is tiled with linoleum. So, one thing leads to another. If we're going to fix the dip in the floor, we have to tear up the linoleum to do it. Which means not only do we repair the subfloor, but we put in a new floor over it. Also, we've been planning to remodel the kitchen since we've lived here, so it would only make sense to do all the cabinets and appliances first and then tear up the floor.

That dip is slowly turning into a money pit.

We haven't decided exactly what to do yet or how much we want to spend on it. We do know we're in a race against time, because we're only probably a couple months away from someone stepping through the floor and being hip deep in linoleum.

It'll probably be me since I'm the one who loads the dishwasher all the time. It's not because I want to. It's because, and I'm not bragging here, I'm a dishwasher savant. I know how to maximize the space. It's like that movie A Beautiful Mind, except in my version, instead of seeing equations in the air John Nash sees how all the dishes fit in the racks.

I know the entire family will be happy once the kitchen is done. It's really the last problem we have with the house. Then, we can all sit back and enjoy this house the way we've wanted to since we moved in.

Besides, I'm sure the lights blowing out when we run the washer, dryer and dishwasher at the same is fairly common.