Home Improvement
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
I remember when I was little I kind of got excited whenever Home Improvement was coming on. Even in my youth, I was still shrewd enough to identify it as a stupid show but I still needed to know what was going to happen each and every week. Oh Tim Allen, in what hilarious ways will you grunt this week? Will we get to see Wilson's face this time? In what whacky way will Al embarrass himself today?
I don't remember anything getting fixed on that show though. On the other hand, that's all I have been doing for the last two weeks. Click on these before pictures to see the after pictures. I've had a lot of help as it is still difficult to do everything with half of my arms on the DL.
Looking for a place to dump over a ton of dirt is a whole day's worth of fun.
The previous owner was scared of plants and doing physical labor.
Carpeted bathrooms are good for insane asylums, not homes. (Don't worry I cut out the toilet hole - this is not France)
This is where the previous owner held Knife Fight Club. The first rule was to not mention it in the seller's agreement.
Cooking everything over the oven.
posted by Ghengis @ 10:34 PM,
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Passive Aggressive Pact (PAP)
Saturday, June 25, 2005
Sometimes I want to let the roommates know that the dishwasher (yeah I'm gonna talk about this again) has been nearly empty for 10 days and that there really isn't a good reason to keep stacking things in the sink. If they think things disappear when you put them in the sink, just think what happens when you close them behind the dishwasher door. They disappear completely and you don't even have to call David Copperfield!
So when I want to send this message, plain and simple, I just open the door to the dishwasher for all to see. The vast empty space screams out to be loaded with slimy taco pans and plates with dried ketchup on top. Roommates and any passing vagrants can see that there is prime dish cleaning real estate available on a first come, first serve basis. No thinking is required! If the dishwasher was an amusement park, the dishes would be lining up themselves and wearing short shirts that show off their belly fat just to be able to jump in the soapy ride of a lifetime.
Well I suppose opening the dishwasher to send a message is a little passive aggressive. I'd get much better results if I were to go up to roommate and say, "Roommate your tacos from last Thursday are starting to grow legs, it would be especially nice if someone were to keep the smell from running through my nose." However, my saying this may result in the other players of Warcraft receiving the message that, "OMG my roomate is such a fag." and I will not have my name sullied over the Internet! We live in constant fear of being made fun of.
The natural response to my non-vocalized request would probably be to say inside of your head, "Ok I guess I've had dirty dishes in the sink for over a week and haven't done anything about it. Man, I'm a jerk! But Dan is a bigger jerk for making me realize how much of a jerk I am. I'm gonna show him! I'm going to open all of the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen! Haha! Then I will have plenty of time to go in my room and calm down by taking the clothes off of my female paladin character and take semi-naked screenshots of her so I can look at them whenever I'm feeling lonely. She never tells me to do the dishes."
I really wish I was making this up.
I guess he's a little frustrated that I didn't invite him to stay at the new house. I might have but I don't know how he would have handled the no high school kids are allowed to come over rule and the you have to come out of your room for at least 5 minutes a day rule. It's not often that the Mongolians will take to outright slander, but these are the terms of the PAP. No direct conflict allowed.
Today we are landscaping. The tree in the picture is all that has been added. More is on the way!
posted by Ghengis @ 6:56 AM,
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How fast do fingernails grow?
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Two months ago my body took a beating from 20 tons of metal and 250 lbs of negligence. Since then, not everything has completely healed but my body is working on it. My body has the work mentality of an intern. My thumb struck something pretty hard and the evidence has been creeping along the keratin trail. This bruise has to ride the nail out like a lazy person on an escalator. It'll leave when my fingernail has gone through a complete regeneration cycle. But, how fast does the nail grow?
4/17/05
4/27/05
6/15/05
A real scientist would have more than 3 datapoints. In the first 10 days, the fingernail grew 5 mm or .5 mm/day. In the 50 following days the fingernail grew 7 mm longer or .14 mm/day. In all it has grown 12 mm in 60 days or .2 mm/day. *UPDATE* - Today is the 20th and the damage has moved 1 mm in the last 5 days or .2 mm/day.
Since their cutting yesterday, the thumb nail is 15 mm long, therefore the journey of the dent should take 75 days in total using the rate of 0.2 mm per day. That is next Tuesday. If you like to measure things by a king's foot that rate is 0.00787401575 inches per day. (Kids, this will make an excellent footnote!) I don't know if a nail actually grows faster at the beginning of the cycle or if it was just because of bad estimates. I hadn't really planned on chronicling the growth of sores on my body until last week.
I'm a little worried that in all of the kinetic energy transfer in the wreckage, some sort of beast formed underneath my nail? Could it be the anti-Christ forming under my nail? What is the gestation period for an anti-Christ? Will someone read the book of Revelation and tell me if there is any significance to thumbs and Tuesday, June 28th 2005? Please hurry. It may already be too late. I've got no problem growing it out indefinitely like some Guinness book for records freak if it means saving the world.
A note to children using this as their primary source of information for a science project: This is an excellent independent study that may be used to gather information for a project on the growth of fingernails. I do not recommend or condone intentionally getting in a car accident to re-create this mark on your thumb to study. Please cite your sources as teachers will usually give A's to projects that have a bibliography entirely from blogspot.com sites.
Beakman said it takes 6 months for a fingernail to grow from cradle to grave. He is a liar.
posted by Ghengis @ 10:18 PM,
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Protesting Couch Potatoes
Monday, June 13, 2005
This past year has not been very kind to people without jobs.
Nobody is allowed to get drafted yet.
Nobody got to feed some girl.
Nobody changed their mind.
Nobody did any abortions at the capitol building that day.
Just when we thought that sign-carrying jobless people who contribute little to society (unless they use their signs to catch purse snatchers) were being beaten down to a level where they may feel the need to re-evaluate their life...
This happens:
She murders the birds for guilty verdicts.
The people standing outside the courthouse had a profound effect on the verdict! They won! Grab your sign and go demonstrate for your cause because protesting is back baby!
Today I called my boss and quit my job. For the rest of my days I'm going to attempt to annoy people into thinking the way I do. The protests start today!
For free!
posted by Ghengis @ 7:30 PM,
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Look at that guy talking about the stuff he has.
Sunday, June 12, 2005
She's getting tired and now she's over the hill. I wish I could tell her that a grandchild was on the way but it's not going to happen for awhile. But I've been with her longer than anyone else at 58% of her life.
That's a lot of gas money.
I also ceased being a landlord as of Friday. I can now go into my home but I was away for the weekend so my first chance to see it was Sunday night. I was planning on having a new blogger template up in commemoration of new property but I didn't have a chance to do anything with it even after chartering a little help from matt. I'll do it later.
You can drink beer in this room after helping me paint over that ugly yellow dining room.
It is a huge turn-on, to all of the materialistic whores in Chicago, to meet a single 20-something guy who just bought a house for no real reason. Well it was to at least one. Of course, if you're a jaded big city person, buying a house means coming up with a billion dollars for the down payment. I don't know if it translates well that you can buy something larger and in a quieter neighborhood in a mid-sized city for pennies in comparison to the big city.
And I wasn't walking around with a sandwich sign and a bullhorn telling everyone I bought a house. It's more of an inevitability of conversation. But, we did try to steal a bullhorn from the bartender that was yelling at me to buy another Jagerbomb.
I wonder how much the house from Family Matters would go for these days - that is, if you treat it fairly and don't count the historical repercussions and the tender mark the Winslow family left on our hearts every Friday night in the 80's.
posted by Ghengis @ 11:51 PM,
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Pat Summerall is in it
Sunday, June 05, 2005
I remember walking into this bar. There would rarely be a large crowd - a good reason to go there. Karaoke would sporadically be the main focus of attention. A few regulars would take up their regular seats to watch the singer while others would be playing pool, perusing the jukebox, or sitting around the bar telling stories of days past. Everything was right. Everything was normal.
This weekend we went back to this bar and were met with a completely different scene. The place was packed with bodies. Nearly all of the patrons were hunched over a table coldly eyeing their neighbors. The air was thick with distrust. Poker chips were incessantly clicking together as decisions were made. Everyone was playing poker and it was the saddest thing I had ever seen.
Now, the reason we went there was to play poker. We knew full well what we were getting into. I'm just having a little trouble embracing the craze. I was poker's biggest advocate before it hit ESPN. My response to "What do you want to do tonight?" would often be, "Lets play some poker - C'mon some low-hold, 7 stud, draw, 7-27, iron cross, Chicago? Hmm?" The answer would always be along the lines of, "Oh Dan, why don't I just give you my $10 now and we skip the whole thing?"
All of those people who used to turn me down for poker are now the ones starting these games and planning evenings around poker - now that it's on TV and everyone is doing it! The feeling is much like when your favorite band - the one that only you like - suddenly goes mainstream and everyone is suddenly 'out-fanning' you. From your little corner you're screaming to deaf ears, "Hey I knew them before everyone else did!" But no one cares to hear about your music opinion history.
I think the poker craze is soon going to collapse upon itself, Atkins-style. Staying with the music analogy, do you remember when you'd go to a club and the DJ would say, "Hey are you guys having fun tonight?" After a half second pause he would fire up Hey Ya and everyone would go crazy. Oh my goodness Hey Ya is playing! This is my favorite song! This is what music is supposed to be about! I don't even know what the name of this girl I'm dancing with is, but Hey Ya is playing and I couldn't be happier! Heeeeeyy Yaaaaaaa!
Now if the DJ tries to play that song he'll be buried in a pile of beer bottles and plastic cups. "Hey dickhead! Play that latest 50 Cent shitbomb of a song instead! Or play Hollaback Girl because I forgot how to spell BANANAS!" (How in the hell is that song #1?) Actually I kind of like Hate it or Love it so my blanket hatred for 50 is possibly starting to show some holes. But I guess it's actually The Game's song? Oh yeah I don't care.
Anyway, back at the bar, my night ended early. I went all in because I played dangerously (stupid) and lost. Waiting for my friend to lose, my eye wandered across all of the abandoned bar machines and activities. It was sad to see everything wasted. Nothing was even playing on the jukebox. Next to the jukebox was the Golden Tee game. The voice of Pat Summerall was droning on. Welcome to Golden Tee! Come put money in me. You want to play unrealistic simulated golf.
I will not be ignored.
I didn't want to play but I felt kind of bad no one was playing and probably hadn't for a long time. The voice continued. If you little bastards don't put those cards down soon I'm going to call the police about your semi-illegal gambling hut. Did I hear that right? Golden Tee games are connected by a phone line... Would Pat really do this to the bar?
He must have heard my thoughts because the next thing I knew the screen on the game turned red. Pat's face appeared on the screen. The numbers 9-1-1 appeared over his face. There was a countdown timer over his head. 20 seconds and the cops would be called!
"Is anyone seeing this?" I exclaimed pointing at the game.
No one even humored me with a nod. "I'll raise..." They were too consumed with becoming the next Phil Helmuth to acknowledge anything outside of the game.
I sprang to my feet, bumping the table and knocking over stacks of chips. I had to stop that 80-year-old madman inside that video game! I ran over to the Golden Tee to abort the countdown. 10 seconds left! I didn't have any dollars left so I couldn't feed in any money. In the confusion I rapidly tapped the START button. The countdown only quickened!
"Should have picked the green wire!" Pat laughed. "Peter, call the police for me. These old bones can't press the numbers." The 9 lit up first followed by the 1's. A dial tone. A pause.
"Hello, 911."
"Hello this is the NFL's Pat Summerall..."
I grabbed my friend and convinced him to leave before to police arrived. We were almost out the door when the Golden Tee game tried to jump out and block our path. Mr. Summerall's taunting face filled the screen with rage. We thought we were going to be forced into making a hole-in-one in order to acquire safe passage. That's when Pat's expression changed. He was caught. The cord only reached so far. The machine lunged in one final attempt to stop us. The cord pulled from the wall and the game landed sideways, smoking. Pat Summerall's rampage was over, but the damage was already done.
Not one poker player paid the scene a cursory glance.
The policed stormed the building as we watched from the car. The world will have to wait for the next Phil Helmuth.
What a bad ending.
posted by Ghengis @ 12:35 PM,
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A Great Weight is Finally Lifted
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
20 years ago we were playing kickball in the park behind some houses in our neighborhood. My friend kicked the ball over some old guy's fence. We were sworn to secrecy.
Deep Throat didn't give the ball back.
posted by Ghengis @ 10:23 PM,
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