Entry 114: Paint Your Wagon

["Gonna paint that wagon, gonna paint it good.  We ain't braggin' were gonna coat that wood."]

Only in this case, it's not a wagon. We (S, S's mother who's visiting, and I) spent a large chunk of yesterday painting a little room in our house. S started the process a few days ago taping all the edges. She asked me to tape the ceiling and top of the door frames, as she has trouble reaching these areas even on a stool (haha, she's short and I'm not). I told her I wouldn't do it, because I could paint the edges without tape. See, back in 1995 I spent a summer painting houses for AAA Student Painters, and they taught us a technique where you put your brush right against the edge, "cut the edge" was the phrase they used, and apply the paint perfectly without using any tape. It's easy to do with a little practice, but S was highly skeptical that I could do it.

Turns out she had good reason to be. I tried to cut an edge, got paint all over the ceiling, and then made the bold proclamation that we should just tape all the edges. Between I-told-you-sos from S, it all came back to me. It wasn't a summer I spent painting houses in 1995. It was a week, and I was terrible at it and hated it. I never actually learned how to cut an edge. I didn't learn anything except to crack down in computer programming classes, because I'd starve as a blue collar worker. It was such a miserable job that I "quit" (I use quotes because my supervisor wasn't exactly begging me to stay) to become a dishwasher at The Old Spaghetti Factory. Yep, getting lectured because the butter crocks weren't properly stocked, by a mustachioed, 23-year old, community college dropout, was actually a step up from house painting.*

Anyway, we painted the room. We got the job done. Well, half done. It looks like shit right now, actually, but I'm confident that we can make it look decent with another coat. A big part of the problem is that we're painting over a darker color with a lighter color and you can tell. It looks really patchy in parts.  But, like I said, I think we can smooth it over with another coat. Home improvement projects just aren't my bag. My plan in life has always been to make enough money doing things that are my bag, so that I can pay somebody to do home improvement projects for me. We're getting there -- still can't quite justify paying somebody to paint a small room, though. It's better to do a slightly substandard job and save the money.  Especially, when you have a wife who takes advantage of the fact you rarely look at your bank account and spends money on something that you don't really need online every other day. Although, I can't give S much crap. Lately, she's been right, and I've been wrong. She bought a SodaStream to carbonate water, and I told her that within a week it would be in the basement gathering dust. Turns out it's awesome.  We both use it all the time, so I have to eat my words on that one.

Speaking of S, she left this morning for a weeklong work trip to South America. Her mom is still here. I'm giving her a ride to the airport tomorrow. Actually, S's entire immediately family (mom, dad, and sister) was here last weekend. I like it when they come to visit. It's nice to have in-laws you get along with. By the way, isn't the term "in-law" a bit strange? It seems really formal for family members. "Hey, this is my brother... in-law. We have no personal connection, it's strictly a legal matter."

[Dhosas abound when S's mom comes to visit.]

Anyway, when S's family is together, they speak a hybrid of English and a South Indian dialect. To the outsider it sounds something like this, "Ba dub ba dub ba dub dub gym by 9 in the morning. Ba dub ba dub Dupont Circle..." This is good for me, because I tend to tune people out even when I speak their language, so this just gives me a great excuse. Although, usually I can figure out what's going on by the tenor of the conversation. Like the other day, a few friends were over for dinner, and S's mom came in with a bowl of food. S said something to her and then she responded, and I knew that S said that she was overfeeding us, and her mom said that we could just eat what we wanted and leave the rest. I could tell even though I didn't understand a word they said. I think I'm pretty perceptive that way. I can usually read social situations pretty well. This is probably a talent I honed as a teenager through years of having to recognize all the girls who didn't like me. It was a survival thing. I had to correctly ascertain the situation to avoid critical embarrassment.

[I mentioned 1995 above and I mention baseball below, so this clip is completely appropriate.  The single (or should I say, double... haha... good one) most exciting moment in Seattle sports in the last 30 years.  (And that's sad being that it was only the ALDS and the Ms lost in the next round.)] 

Changing subjects completely, baseball season is underway. The Mariners look like they might be OK, by which I mean they have a chance to finish third in a division of four. When your team hasn't made the playoffs in 11 years, that's considered OK. Ozzie Guillen, the outspoken, funny (in a jackass sort of way) manager of the Miami (nee Florida) Marlins, was in the news this week as he received a five game suspension for jokingly praising Fidel Castro. Several writers have chimed in on what an overly harsh punishment this is. I agree. It's part of a weird phenomenon in our culture where the outrage ratio of what people say over what people do is way too high. (I agree with the author of the fangraphs article I linked to above who implies that Ozzie perpetuating beanball wars -- for which he receives little or no punishment -- is much worse than saying stupid things.)

Take Mel Gibson, as an example, he's said and probably will continue to say, idiotic, derogatory things. He's slurred several different ethnic groups (which is especially stupid being that one of these groups essentially runs the industry he's in). For this, his career is basically over, rightfully so, perhaps. But now take Chris Brown. A few years ago he beat the shit out of his girlfriend. I mean, not just slapped her, but actually bludgeoned her face. Today, he's back on top -- playing the NBA All-Star game, winning Grammys, and referring to himself as a role model. Now, who more deserves career-ending treatment for what they did, Mel Gibson or Chris Brown? And speaking of award shows, Brown was embraced at the Grammys, but the guy who said "fag" as part of a joke was kicked off The Oscars. Does this make any sense to anyone?

[Ozzie Guillen]

Anyway, that's all I have to say about that. I just wanted to go out on a quick jag. Until next time...

*I quickly learned to just ignore the manager. The one advantage of being the low man on the totem poll is that you don't have to take shit from people. What, I'm going to lose this minimum wage job? Oh no. It's the booming '90s. I think I can find somebody else to pay me $4.90 an hour (my actually wage). If you want things to go faster quit trying to chat up the underage hostesses, put on an apron, and get back here and help, otherwise shut up and leave me alone with my dirty spumoni saucers.