The Light At The End Of The Tunnel....

Another late night of heating and peeling back tiles, but all of the ugly press-on flooring is gone now (except for the entryway, which for some reason didn't have any linoleum underneath it)

So I KNOW that you've all been clamoring for pictures. So there they are. Here is the "Old" Floor (which is actually newer than the "New Floor", but that just confuses people. I can see you sitting there gaping right now)



And here is the "New Floor" (which is actually the old floor but, oh, never mind...) As demonstrated by the lovely Gladys




It's not all champagne and orchids quite yet, however. There is still a little bit of adhesive left on the floor, and some staining. We need to strip the thing down, scrub it, and then put about a bajillion coats of Future on it, but the messiest, ugliest part is over.

Floor Update.....

We've finally figured out a rythmn to this thing: Peel up two tiles, sklathe the affected area with "Goo Gone", sit through one song on KIXI, scrub like a wild thing, wipe up with paper towels, and wash it all off with Mr. Clean. Repeat as needed.

AND it's all up now except for the area under the stove and refrigerator and the area directly in front of the stove and refrigerator. The plan is to move the stove and fridge onto the tiles in front of them, pull up the tiles they normally sit on, slide them back into place, and then pull up the last of the tiles, Put about a gazillion coats of Future on the whole damn thing and VOILA! A completed floor for a FRACTION of the cost!

Of course, it all depends on the condition of the still uncovered portion of the floor. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, as we used to say in Iowa. Keep your fingers crossed.

Oh, and btw, it's the Colonel's Birthday. Happy Birthday to the Colonel!

And so it continues.....

This floor project is both sticky and dreary, but so far it is paying off. We've got half the kitchen done, but we still have to do the area in front of the stove and the sink, so keep your fingers crossed.

The worst part is scrubbing the linoleum to get the adhesive off. I haven't worked this hard since I was on the set-up crew at the Iowa Memorial Union, and that was AGES ago. But it reminds me of why I used to be so shapely. The bosom I had back then from swinging a mop has gradually crept southward, pretty much covering what was at least a respectable four-pack. But if I kept this up for a while I might remain some of my former glory. On balance, however, I think I'd just be the frowsy mess I am. (Feel free to post comments protesting as to how I am still lovely and lean)

I really need to take a picture, so that you can see the contrast.

The Floor Project Has Begun.....

Over the weekend, I decided to peel back the ugly, ugly, UGLY press-on floor JUST in the area where the doorway is from the kitchen to the hallway.

Lo and behold, the linoleum underneath seemed to be in good shape, AND with a fun pattern: Sort of a seafoam green with whitish streaks in the background, and colored rectangles of red, yellow, blue and green in the foreground.

In a remarkable show of restraint, I did not proceed, awaiting the colonel's return. Imagine my suprise, when he also thought it looked cool, and suggested that we attack it with scraper and heat gun. So we went rushing off to Lowes to buy us a nice heat gun and got to work.

Now, 12 square feet later, we have a good idea of what we are dealing with. The big problem seems to be the adhesive residue from the tacky press-on floor, but working dilligently with lighter fluid is paying off (and also making the people at the Red Apple look at me as if I am a terrorist, as we are going through a lot of it. If anyone has a better idea, please let me know)

HOPEFULLY, all of the floor is in as good a condition as what we have seen so far, but one never knows. The previous owners were not one to just frivilously lay a new floor, so I'm hoping that this was just a wild hare on their part, and we will find a nice pristine complete floor when we are done. If not, we'll just skip off to Lowes again and buy us some new tiles. But right now, this is cheap and cheerful. And sort of fun to do. Plus it provides hours of entertainment when the animals get stuck on the gluey part.

Gladys is a Street Fighting Lady

The new dachshund, Gladys, is one tough cookie and a handful to manage. Last night, we had the Professor and Midge over for some birthday cake (a last-minute affair, I hasten to add to all of you dear readers in the vicinity). Everything was going well, we were visiting in the living room (which is how its done in well-regulated households. None of this kitchen kibitzing for US) when we noticed that Gladys was nowhere to be found. We went into the kitchen, and there was Gladys, eating the frosting off of one side of the cake. As you might imagine, all hell broke loose, and the affected part of the cake was cut off and discarded, but it just proved what kind of loose cannon this doxie is.

But the good thing is that she is quite a sweetheart (When she's not eating cake) and that she has calmed Crackers down significantly. Although he still goes nuts when he sees the flashlight or the vacuum cleaner.

The row I hoe. I tell ya.....

Whoo Hoo! It's a long weekend!

In honor of our Presidents (except for the current one, who wasn't elected anyway) We have Monday off here at Today's World! The colonel is off to San Francisco, and the Greek is back in Chicago, so it's just me, the livestock, and the Kimball Swinger!

But I am going out with Catalina Vel-DuRay (My drag mother) on Sunday. For the Record: I'm not a drag queen, late night solo showtune lip-syncing not withstanding, but you never know when you could use a drag mother, so I keep her on retainer.

Mother (as opposed to my mom. Don't get the two confused, or you'll have a very irate old Irish lady on your hands) still likes to "shake it down", despite her advanced age. She takes an annual southern vacation which I am certain is a vision of the apocolypse: Her, in her bikini on the beach, laughing and dancing/dancing and laughing. It should be noted that whenever she goes on vacation, some national calamity (9/11, Hurricane Katrina, the list goes on and on) occurs, but you will have to ask Pat Robertson about the possible Biblical significance of that.

She is also fond of bowling and (I think) Benson & Hedges. While she's bitter, it's a mellow kind of bitter, and if you don't get too close you'll be fine. But watch out for her lighter.

Anyway, those are my plans. Time to stock up on the boxes of wine!

Now for something completely different

How about a vist to the Ladies Against Feminism? These women are trippy. I thought it was a joke, and in a way it is, but they are quite serious about their "femininity"

Here you will be able to read about such wonderful topics as "Biblical Womanhood and Christian Living", "Especially for the Unmarried" and, just so you know that men aren't off the hook, "Responsible Manhood" where you can read the timeless essay "A Government Program is No Substitute for a Bear-Hug" (and here all this time I thought I had to apply to the Department of Public Affection to receive a government-mandated bear hug)

But just in case you have 76 or so quails sitting around your kitchen....

Here are some great recipes

Inquiring Minds Want to Know.....

Way back in the 70's, I attended a Boy Scout camp where we were taught how to use firearms, as well as the bow and arrow. I also had an Uncle (Uncle Marvin) who used to take us out shooting in the back 40 of his farm (yes, farms really do have "back 40's. His was full of cowpies and old farm machinery.) That is the sum total of my experience with guns. But even I know enough about hunting to know you never whirl around at shoot at things behind you. You keep to your 30 degree line of site (or something like that. I know the rule had a degree involved which meant that you don't just fire blindly) Keeping your shooting to things in front of you isn't a big deal, especially when you are "hunting" a bunch of animals that were just released from a cage, which hardly seems sporting to me in the first place.

But back to my main point: Who among us, dear readers, would be able to shoot someone, go home and have a cocktail and a good meal, decline to meet with a law enforcement officer, wait until the next day to make it public, and then schlep it off on your hostess to handle? These are all parts of the official story. These are also the hallmarks of a really bad guest.

If for some reason I had shot a friend or acquaintance, or even something I was actually hunting, I can tell you unequivocably that I would be horrified, and drinking would be the last thing on my mind. In all honesty, I'd probably be throwing up. Even in the week before my Dad died - who I most certainly did NOT shoot - and up through the funeral, I had absolutely no desire to drink. That has to be some sort of record for me, but I just didn't want to. What was happening was way too intense for alcohol.

I don't know what happened down in Texas. But I do know this, just from Cheney's version of the story: This guy is a jerk and a sociopath - and he has no business being our Vice-President.

And just to bring this back to furnishings and china (to keep a certain Eagle Scout happy): If I were serving quail, I would have a side of Polenta or a roasted root vegetable blend, with a mixed green salad and a berry viniagrette. I would use the Metlox Navajo, and pair it with a nice solid Cab/Merlot blend. But Quail isn't that good. It's sort of like Cornish game hen, so I would probably never serve it. I'd opt for duck, if I wanted game. And I'd buy it at the store.

Happy Birthday to Me!

OMG. I'm 41!

You know I wasn't going to mention it, but then I heard on the radio that it is also the birthday of Kim Jung, the creepy/wacky leader of North Korea, and you know me - anything to bond with a celebrity.

The Colonel bought me a neat wall clock. His birthday is coming up as well, and I bought him a tombstone. It's a long story, but I'm not spoiling any suprises there. He knows all about the tombstone. The Greek bought me a neat red Skyway suitcase to replace my ratty old red non-Skyway suitcase.

Back in the very old days - the 1940's or so - it was the custom of the Delphi Commune for Social Justice (and their female hangers-on), on the occassion of a member's birthday, to gather in the smallest bedroom and drink a bottle of fortified wine. We would then head out into the night to spread the message of Social Justice to the lowbrows of Iowa City, and only occassionally would the night end in the emergency room. While I have no wish to ever drink fortified wine ever again (OK, I'm drinking a tumbler of port as I type this, but that doesn't count), I do hoist an imaginary glass of Night Train or Abbie's Wild Irish Rose to those of you out there in Reader Land who were members of the commune, Members of the Ladie's Auxillary, or Fellow Travelers. Turn that AC/DC down, and for God's Sake don't let the pipes freeze!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go put Ben-Gay on all of my joints (don't go there) and down a bottle of Geritol, and then head off to a busy day at "Today's World" magazine.

Betty Furness: Role Model

I'm sure that most of you dear readers are too young to remember Betty Furness. A self-admitted "B-Grade Actress" who was the Westinghouse spokeswoman for about 20 years. She would go on TV live (in the early years) and demonstrate Westinghouse appliances, sometimes with unexpected results. One time the refrigerator door she was talking about wouldn't open, and she had to fake it - doing her speil in a close-up while stagehands wrestled with the fridge door just off-camera.

After the Westinghouse gig ended, she worked for the Democratic Party, and then was appointed a consumer advocate by President Ford (back in the day Republicans at least pretened to care about consumers). She then joined the "Today" show staff as the consumer advocatate, and continued in that job until they released her in 1990 in what most people agree was a sad case of ageism.

Betty died in 1994 of stomach cancer after a long life.

Why am I talking about Betty Furness? Because she was a class act. And a Democrat. And I just thought I'd talk about her.

If you would like to see some campy videos of betty in action, click here

We're getting a new Furnace!

OK, this is the last major project on the house for a while (outside of doing SOMETHING about that deck, but that will have to wait until spring)

We're getting a new furnace and water heater!

The new furnace, which will replace BIG BLUE, the original 1956 oil burner, is a pretty little thing, and quite petite compared to its predecessor. The new water heater is a brutish thing, but that is pretty much expected of water heaters, isn't it?

The current water heater, a stubby angry-looking electric model, sits glowering underneath the basesment stairs in it's own dark little cave. The new one, a stylish gas model, will come out of the shadows and have a nice little window it can peek out of from time to time.

While I'm not at all sentimental about the water heater, I must admit that I shall miss BIG BLUE. He's loud and clumsy and rather ineffective, and the "oil man" says that he could die AT ANY MINUTE or last for ANOTHER THIRTY YEARS (actually, that could be said about almost everyone I know), but he does have something of an ersatz charm. You just don't see blue furnaces anymore.

Oh well. Time, as they say, marches on.

Thrift Stores: Here's a great way to lose customers!!!

Play Christian Music!

If I go into one more thrift store where they are playing "Contemporary Christian" or (even worse) "Christian Pop" I am going to stick my head in the oven (Don't worry - As you undoubtedly know, I have a Frigidaire Custom Imperial "Flair" Electric Oven. Nothing to worry about here!)

I have nothing against religion per se. And certainly nothing against much of the traditional religious music - you just TRY and find someone who appreciates a good Gregorian Chant more than me - but being forced to listen to some bland singer with what always sounds like a Casio keyboard background singing inanities about Our Lord is just too much to ask of a shopper. It's bad enough that some of the charitable organizations behind these stores have what I consider dubious policies - I can ignore that for something fabulous - but don't force me shop to Jesus music.

This was happening to me this last weekend when I was in the Union Gospel Mission store in beautiful Downtown Kent, Washington (Childhood home of the fabulous Ericababy). This former JC Penney's would be a thrifter's paradise if they would just can the Kristian Krud. Do like the folks at St. Vincent de Paul or Salvation Army do, and leave your proselytizing back at the mission. My soul is fine, thank you very much. I don't need to hear some hack third-rate R&B wannabe screeching about Fish or Jesus or Glory. Just. Stop. It.

Thank you very much for letting me vent. I remain yours in Christ.

My Bizzare Fascination

Every couple of years I come across a copy of the movie version of "Valley of the Dolls" and I spend way too much time watching it. This occassional binge of Dolls on my part is due in no small part to a certain Miss somebody who shall remain nameless (but her initials are Sylvia O. Stayformore) All in all, I suppose it's not a bad compulsion. Certainly better than what the ladies in the movie endure.

Anyway, this is such a uniquely terrible movie that it is like the proverbial train wreck: You have to watch it, again and again. The acting is fairly dreadful, the camera work is of that creepy 60's style with lots of cheesy "effects", but I think the things that really both repel and attract me are the clothes and the sets.

The interior scenes in this movie are almost exclusively late 60's "glamour" homes and offices: Lots of deep pile carpets and dusty looking drapes, with kitsch EVERYWHERE. And not good kitsch either - it's all flowered sofas and ugly, ugly lamps and accessories. I think I would probably turn to "dolls" if I had to live in ugly homes like these.

(It should be noted that the nightclub that Tony Polar first performs in, as well as Anne and Neely's Hollywood homes - which we only get glimpses of - are refreshingly fabulous. But Tony and Jennifer's Hollywood house, which we see way too much, is dreadful)

The women's clothes are something else again. Barbara Parkins seems to be little more than a talking manequin who wears one improbable late 60's "high-fashion" outfit after another, particularly after she becomes the Gillian Girl. And Neely wears a HORRIBLE green-and-white empire waist gown in the scene where she wins her Grammy. They must have sedated her to get her into that thing. Sharon Tate's clothing is the only bright spot: They're mod, and she knows how to wear them. And it's always nice to see everyone in skirts (what can I say? I'm a leg man. I think a touch of women's gams adds a little elegance to any occassion)

The montages are also horrifyingly compelling: The "Neely" montage is full of that cringy late-60's "show-biz nostalgia" schtick (Neely in a tuxedo dressed like a hobo, etc, etc, etc.). Anne's "Gillian Girl" montage gives you an overload of bad late 60's "High-Fashion" outfits and scary, scary make-up and hairdos, set to the most sleep-inducing music since Muzak. Both montages use that speeded-up film effect that I think it supposed to be evocative of silent film or something.

But all of this is quite beside the point: The bad acting, cheesy music, and bad bad bad styling is what makes it fun. Much better than, say, "Wild Orchids" (the only movie I've ever actually walked out on). So go out and get yourself a copy of "Valley of the Dolls" this weekend, open up a bottle of vodka, and have yourself a lovely, pathos-ridden weekend.

Sometimes the Colonel has NO sense of humor.....

I was running about this morning, getting ready for my workday at the glamourous highrise (which looks amazingly like the building that "Today's World Magazine" had its offices in on "The Doris Day Show") when the Colonel called (he was already at work. He starts work at 5am or something awful like that). I have a train ticket that needs exchanged, and he was calling to advise me that I should stop at the ticket counter before work.

"So what you are saying is that I should go Down By The Station, Early In the Morning?" (even in the early hours, I'm still a card. )

The colonel was not amused. Absolutely no reaction. He never likes it when I make train jokes. Oh, but I'm supposed to guffaw like Ed McMahon when he calls an Amtrak train "The silver vibrator"

Come to think of it, that's pretty funny. It would make a great advertising tagline, if they wanted to attract that class of people.

Messing with the Panhandlers

was coming back from lunch yesterday when a nicely, if a bit garishly, dressed man approached me (he was wearing corduroy pants, a paisley vest and a wool sports coat.

He proceeded to tell me that he was a "CEO for GM" who had "something" happen to him which left him without money to get to the airport.

I murmured some tasteful comments about how unfortunate that was, but demurred when asked to provide funds. But I went with his story and tried to be helpful:

Did you explain the situation to your hotel? Any hotel that would house a high-powered executive for a fortune 500 company would be happy to make arrangements, most likely free of charge.

No.

Did you call your company's regional office? Surely GM would be eager to make sure that one of their senior management was taken care of.

No. (By this time, he was clearly writing me off and glancing around to see if there was anyone else he could talk to)

Well, I continued, All I have is change and plastic. But I would be willing to give you the change and you can take the bus down to the airport.

No. He is an executive. He doesn't ride buses

He then told me that if I would CHARGE HIS TAXI RIDE TO THE AIRPORT he would be happy to pay me back. I told him I was very nearly maxed out and couldn't afford that. (not true, but since we were into this lie so deep, I thought the least I could do was try to keep up)

We finally ended up parting without any exchange of funds (although he did ask me if he could have the change) and I must say I admired his shtick, but thought he needed more detail to his story. The outfit was a nice touch, but he should have done more research about what his title would be (even I know that GM only has one CEO)

But when it comes to panhandlers (many of whom I actually give money to. After all, no one begs for fun. And if they do, they should be rewarded for their entrepreneurial spirit) no one tops the rather chubby middle aged lady who used to walk up and down Pike street in the evenings, smoking a cigarette and asking for change so she could "buy me some weenies and a six pack". Not only did I appreciate her honesty, I loved how she called everybody "hon" and absolutely ADORED her sense of style: Tight pants, low-cut sweaters and a HUGE Platinum beehive hair-do. They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

I heart Janeane Garofalo

She is so, so, so great! If I were "of that persuasion" I would want to be her boyfriend. I listen to her everyday on "The Majority Report" on Air America, and now that "The West Wing" has gone away, I'm hoping that she's on much more than she has been in the last year or so.

Janeane has the hissy fits about the Republicans for you, so that you don't have to. What a gal!

Grammar Lesson

A "regular reader" sent me this (imagine how thrilled I am that someone regular reads this!). It is from a craigslist M4M (men for men) posting. I think it's both hillarious and informative, if just a tad off-color. Gird your loins, if you are of the prudish variety, or just go fold your tablecloths while the rest of us have a chuckle.


~~~~

OK, kids, enough is enough! After reading one too many postings for "discrete" encounters, with phrases like "if your interested", it is clearly long past time to learn the difference in meaning and usage of the following common homonyms (words which are prounouced the same but have different spellings and meanings).

ITS (possessive, NO apostrophe): The dog licked its ass because it could.
IT'S (a contraction of "it is" and NEVER possessive): Look, it's a dog licking its ass.

DISCRETE (separate, distinct): Speech sounds are produced as a continuous sound signal rather than discrete units.
DISCREET (careful, circumspect): You need to be discreet if you're going to have sex in public places.

YOUR (possessive pronoun): Please contact me if your cock is huge.
YOU'RE (contraction of "you are"): Please contact me if you're interested in hooking up.
(I won't even go into YORE...)

THERE (place): Been there, done that.
THEIR (possessive pronoun): Some tricks bring their own toys and lube.
THEY'RE (contraction of "they are"): They're looking for love in all the wrong places.

THERE'S (contraction of "there is"): There's nothing much happening online today.
THEIRS (possessived pronoun, NO apostrophe): Starting rumors is a favorite game of theirs.

WERE (verb): There were no curtains on the shower stalls at the gym.
WE'RE (contraction of "we are"): We're happy there were no curtains on the shower stalls at the gym.

I won't even get into the matter of punctuation except to say that plurals do NOT require an apostrophe unless they are possessives, in which case the apostrophe goes AFTER the "s" (not BEFORE):

My buddy has a large collection of adult DVDs.
The Republicans' stupidity remains America's worst nightmare.

In the immortal words of you-know-who: GET IT? GOT IT? GOOD!

For all you Mac lovers out there.....

a very funny and very short parody

I Heart George Clooney

I'll try not to be gushy here, but he's just a neat guy: Smart, progressive, handsome, funny, rich and talented. AND up for three Oscars. AND with a cool Aunt (the late Rosemary Clooney)

You don't get much better than George. He even makes the name "George" kind of cool.

Yay, George Clooney!!!

Nothing says "Howdy" like a chicken dish!

This FINALLLY came in the mail yesterday (from Iowa!) and I'm just as pleased as can be! It's a casserole dish that looks like a chicken!! I can't wait for the next potluck!

The State of the Union

1.) What sort of President invites a dog to a speech?

2.) Laura is now in charge of troubled youth. What? She solved the gang problems already?

3.) The Democrats were FABULOUS giving an ovation when George said that they failed to "reform" Social Security. Go Dems!

4.) What sort of tacky family lets their dead soldier's last letter home be used for political purposes?

5.) Cindy Sheehan Rocks. The security force's behavior towards her was disgraceful.

6.) What was up with the guy who gave the Dem's rebuttal? Those eyebrows were a bit much.

7.) New Orleans. Hello??? New Orleans???

OK. That's all I'll say.