Floorz

Jan. 25th, 2012 12:24 am
roadrunnertwice: DTWOF's Lois in drag. Dialogue: "Dude, just rub a little Castrol 30 weight into it. Works for me." (DTWOF.Lois - Castrol)

OKAY. Whew. The schmutz left from tearing up the carpet is vacuumed up, mostly. I’ve moved my bed back in, for the time being, because not having my own sleeping space when I’m trying to do complicated logistical shit I’ve never done before makes me kind of frantic.

Next step is that I’m going to try and hit the Northeast Portland Tool Library tomorrow and borrow some form of power sander; in the meantime, I’m feeling almost ready to make some final judgments about paint colors. And once the landlord’s agent gets back to me on whether I can get away with a minimalist oil treatment, I’ll need to try and source some tung oil and thinner (preferably the citrus kind, but I’ll deal w/ the VOCs if I have to). Yeah anyway, home improvement. Phone me if you have tung oil.


Wow, hold up a second, I just paged back through the last month and apparently I’ve only half-mentioned the new digs like once. I feel like I’ve been about to write something about it several times, and then got overwhelmed by the required context and photos or whatever and gave up or something. Actually, I very nearly just did the same thing again.

Long story short, Schwern and I moved across the neighborhood and Nóirín joined the household, and we’re all living in this unspeakably adorable 3-bedroom house on the border between Northeast and North. Nóirín took the recently renovated and incredibly dope “princess suite,” on account of ponying up a wad of extra rent, and Schwern got the room downstairs with the patchwork wood closet. I took the other much smaller upstairs room because I desperately wanted its east-facing window, being no fool about what is necessary to get me properly up in the morning.

Friends, the condition of that smaller upstairs bedroom was wack. It was the only room in the entire house with carpet instead of wood flooring, and said carpet was vile. The walls were amateurishly painted a stomach-turning visiting-room-at-juvie sea green. The light switch had a cover that, well, I’ll show you later. But I wanted that window, and the rest of the house was killer, and I’ve gradually gotten permission to change everything I disliked about my room. The original plan was to just paint, but now I’ve torn up the carpet and revealed an unfinished board floor, and guys, it’s kind of wonderful. Once I get the splinter situation under control and lay down a few rugs, this room is going to be my badass little treehouse.

Too bad about me having zero natural home improvement aptitude, and about never having done anything of the sort before, BUT FUCKIT, I’m doing this anyway. And I’ve got some help from my friends, too, especially once I’m ready to paint.

So yeah, that’s what’s up. Pictures… eventually. There’re a few up at Flickr already.

roadrunnertwice: Wrecked bicyclist. Dialogue: "I am fucking broken." (NeverAsBad - Fucking broken)
Okay, so I'm close on the book. Very close. Annoyingly so. I think I'm about 10,000 words deeper than I was when last I posted.

OTHER NEWS:

Item: We're moving across the neighborhood! If you've ever been to Chez Schwagerlund and would like to move into our sweet sweet soon-to-be-erstwhile pad, holler and we'll put you in touch with the landlady.

Item: I got a $150 ticket for not riding in the bike lane. AWESOME. I can get out of it with a $30 traffic school humiliation date, but here's the thing: I stopped riding in that particular bike lane on account of it being a total deathtrap. (I've even got a six-month old draft post sitting around about it. I binned it because it was boring and ranty.) I explained this to the nice officer, and all he had for me was, welp, if I'm in the bike lane and I get hurt, the courts will back me up and say it wasn't my fault! Great, that's helpful. Meanwhile, blameless me will be dead or in traction or something.

Obviously I'm not thrilled about this, and more to the point, I've started to dread and fear the morning commute. Since getting pinched, I've been riding in that bike lane again, just in the interest of good faith. It's been less than a week, and I've already had two car interactions I was seriously not okay with. This versus one or two in the last like nine months.

I'm not sure what to do about this. Obviously I'll be breaking the law if I go back to riding in the lane, but we're talking about my life here. Who do I even talk to about this? Especially if I do suck it up to traffic school; do I lose my standing to challenge the validity of the ticket if I hedge my bets like that. ARGH.

Anyway, yet another thing to fret about in addition to Christmas and book and moving.
roadrunnertwice: Protagonist of Buttercup Festival sitting at a campfire. (BF - Vast and solemn spaces)

I'm testing out one of those new Mac builds of Chromium (via), and it is actually kind of awesome! Feels sleek.


Lately I haven't been posting as often as I otherwise might have, because it turns out that I'm actually kind of reliant on having a native-app LJ client. And they all suck right now.

Xjournal used to be awesome, but it doesn't work with Dreamwidth and is stagnant these days anyway. iJournal always kinda sucked, and now it hasn't been touched for three years. MarsEdit technically works, but its DW and LJ support is... lacking. asLJ is too new to trust, Deepest Sender kind of defeats the purpose of using a client in the first place, and nothing supports the DW crossposter. So I have to post via a web form, which shouldn't slow me down as much as it does, but it does, so.


I AM MOVING HOUSE. Gonna go live with Schwern in inner Northeast! It'll be rad. I have not even started packing yet. Expect me to become increasingly bugfuck insane until the 6th or so.

The place I'm moving into is a 2nd-floor apartment in a brick building that kind of reminds me of my digs in Minneapolis. Not anything close to identical, but familiar enough to immediately feel like home.


That is a rather large spider in the bathroom, isn't it? I have granted her Not My Problem status, on the condition that she gets off the counter within the next half hour.


Writing continues to be difficult. DON' WANNA TALK 'BOUT IT.


It's one of those nights where The Replacements are once again everything I could ever want from pop music.


So yeah, this is my new job. I likes it lots. Folks is cool. Things:

  • The yarn world is far larger and stranger than I imagined.
  • Indigo is awesome. No, seriously, it's the weirdest shit. Reacts on oxygen contact! Changes color as you watch!
  • We get free coffee. My caffeine tolerance has shot through the roof.
  • The shop runs on this app called POS·IM, which apparently has a 20-year lineage and is One Hairy-Ass Beast. It's got a majorly schizoid personality. On the one hand, it's been polished for 20 years to suit the needs of small-to-midsize retail outfits, and in general, the developers have thought of everything you will need to do with the thing. On the other hand, the interface seems to be held together with baling wire and fun-tak, the search capabilities are about the least sophisticated I've ever seen, and none of the features seem able to decide whether they're made for database-savvy power users or the technically-disinclined. The manual is written in at least two, probably more like three different voices, which switch off without discernible pattern and use distinctly different sets of vocabulary. It perversely re-invents every available wheel. It makes it frustratingly fidgety and tedious to make any large-scale changes to the inventory, and frighteningly easy to wreck vast havoc.
    • I am absolutely confident in my ability to bend it to my will. JUST YOU WAIT.
  • No, I don't know how to knit yet. Gimme another week or two.
roadrunnertwice: Vesta Tilley, Victorian drag king (Default)
WIN. This was one of those days in which everything goes so well that one begins to suspect some massive expenditure of karma reserves. So be it -- it was totally worth it.

Unless you have both a truck and an easily-shanghaied housemate, furniture totally sucks. It's hard to get home, it's hard to get up the stairs and into position, and it is damnably hard to discreetly get rid of. (There's always the curb, but one still needs help lugging the shit and the luck to not get caught. And my usual suspects are having one of those weeks where it's hard to get ahold of them on short notice.) So I was less than thrilled to, at 11 this morning, still be in possession of two huge bookcases, one wooden writing desk, a breakfast table, three wooden chairs, a glossy black end-table, and a dog's breakfast of a filing cabinet which, despite its impressively smooth drawer motion, I suspected I couldn't pay someone to take.

By 6:20? GONE, thanks to the kindness of strangers (and Neighbor Steve) and the potency of the Free Shit Motive. It turns out that just brazenly offering furniture to everyone you see in the hallways actually works quite well. The coup de grâce was the filing cabinet, which went to one of the random dudes in the stairwell of Steve's building who held the door open for us. (I made the offer over my shoulder as we tromped down the corridor with that end-table.)

Anyway, that leaves me at the point where everything I own is going to come with me, get left in a free-box, or get thrown away. MAJOR load off my mind.

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roadrunnertwice: Vesta Tilley, Victorian drag king (Default)
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