Bland

I could be anything starting today

2011-01-01T11:52:00.003-06:00

What will I write about this year? I start most years wanting to do something artistic with my life, something with a sense of deeper purpose and discovery of who I am, what I find amazing and mysterious. I play with ideas in my head that feel at the time like they are worthy and should be shared with a pen and paper. And like the romantic notions of penning a concise resuce note that describes how to find me on a deserted isle which I toss into the ocean inside a wine bottle, I too want to lob my words into the tumult waters of opinion and point of view to see what comes of it.

I am no forecaster of things to come but these things I know. I will start writing daily, like once a week, until I allow myself to be distracted by much less rewarding activities. I will generate very well intentioned lists of things to do and people to write which I will then file under coupons I won't use and bills I forget to pay. I will change my oil one time at the precise 5,000mile interval and then forget to write the milage down and then neglect to change the oil again for like 2 months too long.

And I will allow myself to be deluded into believing I am making good use of the short time I have on this planet to do good things for others when in reality I could be doing much better and giving much more.

And so, my first writing of the year is done. And now I will find an old pair of jeans and place them in the Goodwill collection bin down the street. And my insipiration for a changed year, a special year is already almost complete. Yea me!

A bed of fire

2010-08-31T07:13:00.004-05:00

My back, my scapula area, is jacked up. Nothing like a bike header or anything in particular. Just woke up this weekend and owie. Fookin bed.

Alethea and I, my future wife and love of my life!, are thinking we want, more than any other, a new bed and recognize we want one instead of a third blender, walnut wood cigarette dish, and kissing frog sculpture that says, "I am stuck on you". I agree, that's not even a great saying on a kissing frog sculpture.

A bed would save my life at this piont. I hate the thought of lying down on what is in the bedroom. I am pretty sure it pretends to be flat when I am looking at it. It is in collusion with the sheets and pillows, puffing up in the middle to appear firm and lovely. Either that or the box spring has incredible abs, a six-pack Arnold would be proud to have at his disposal. You ever do those ab exercises, a plank? Maybe the matress farts and it poofs up the middle area. In any case, the bed is a spoon and I am an alphabit destined to spin and float in the middle.

I like the spoon in a way. It pushes Ms. Fox and I closer together as the night slides to morning when I find myself face-to-face with soft and dark, smell good and smooth, happy sleepy love. I would sleep on a fork to have that in my life. So, in this regard it ain't that bad at all. But.

So please, if you care about (making) children, for just pennies a day, you can sponsor a new pad for our pad. If you have ever woken up and said, "Crap my back hurts" then help us avoid that anguish. If you see sleep as an escape not as a prison, help us help us won't you?

All coffee houses are not the same

2010-08-26T07:13:00.002-05:00

I am in a new town workin' for the Man. It gets worse. I am two hours west of my love and two hours west of my home. I know, horrible. So, my first move is obviously to run up my bill and to pour passion into the phone. But the next moment, I need to find a coffee house to plunk down in each morning and get my happy groove workin'.

I am older and a bit wiser (no really) and so I have cruised the core of the city's streets. Streets named First, Cherry, and Parsons. And I found coffee. But the places had no soul beyond the friendly staff. A Kaldi's. eh. A gush darned Bread Co. eh. Lakota Coffee. better but eh. Something intangible is missing.

Side note: I had a famous person run-in during my coffee culling. As I waited on my Americano, I looked up to see another young(er) person in the place. Trust me, we were young in here. The place was filled with, basically, dead people: more wrinkles than a walnut. And hell! if this guy wasn't, "Mornin' Coach". Coach Gary Pinkle. He looks at me. He winces slightly and looks away with a bored mug. He says, "Piss off Meyer. Take a lap." True story.

So anyway, those places weren't workin'. But there was this one place, on a side street, attached to a ma/pa movie rental place with hip posters for indie films you know will break your heart and make you think you too can shoot films of importance. Like you have something important to say.

This place is cool. There's kid-art on the wall. Good stuff. Makes me pause and think, "No freakin' way; the parent did this one." The staff is friendly but centered. They are in a place of happy that goes beyond job-happy. They like what they do. They are okay with early rises to greet frumpy, tired people who flow in and out all morning. People who say, "Good morning" even though it is 11am and they themselves have been awake for seven hours already.

My chocolate croissant is a delight. It just came out of the oven: bitter sweet heaven in my mouth with a butter flake crunch smoothness. A cinnamon roll that is not the size of a softball, not gooey drippy, not a hunk of spice. Just darned good.

And I can sit outside as summer recedes into fall and watch this college town wake up. See and smile at bikes, commuters!!!, rolling by, their charges sweaty but joyful inside. I can reminisce about my college life, my joys and disappointments and my deep friends now adrift in their own kids and houses and jobs.

All coffee houses are not the same. Some bring you into a place that feels just right. It transends coffee and a bite to eat. This is one. whew.

Tie me up with your ties Ty.

2010-06-29T06:56:00.002-05:00

You know when you put on a pair of jeans after a long summer of shorts, jorts, and nakedness? Feels odd but good in a way. The denim snug against your skin reminding you that there are parts of your body you dont see butt are still there. The blue skin is cool and you feel...I dont know, skinnier? Healthy? American. I feel American. Blue jeans, John Cougar, and PBR. 'merica!

I put on a suit complete with tie the other day. I will tell more later but suffice to say it was odd but in a good way. There, of course, are all the 'suit' stereotype issues that afront one right away: The Man telling you what to do, drug testing for a job that has you typing power point presentations all day long, low walled cubes covered in cheap, blue carpet that smell like beer farts, and the incessant phone ringing with people sporting stupid questions that have to be answered right now and always followed up with a flaming email. ugh. I just threw up in my mouth.

But. but. There are good things too. Usually, and again stereotypically, a suit and tie, formal garb, implies that a little bit of money is being made. More money, probably, than you are making. The tie, though tight, can be tied in a crisp, neat way. Embellishment with tie tacks, tie bars, clips and what not. Maybe a pin that shows you care about breast cancer, or are a mason, or think America should be worn on one's chest to ward off any McCarthy types seeking Communists. The pants just hang there. There is are pockets but hell if you put something in them. The keys, the gum packet, the pen poke right out indicating something special about you from far away that you really hadn't intended to communicate.

Ah, so much more. SO little time this morning. But...

I've got a secret for you. Some women know it well. Carrie from Sex in the City could expound it into a tome of enormous proportions. Look at the person's shoes. I bet you will find 90% of the time the shoes are cheap, dull, and ill-fitting. See the shoes, assess them, apply the dull, the cheap, the fake veneer worn through onto the suit. Know that we are all the same just some are unfairly compensated more for ridiculous employment.

Cheers.

A price for friendship

2010-06-12T08:52:00.002-05:00

How can you put a price on friendship?

Well, you can't. Or rather, you shouldn't. That's a pretty normal thing to say, right? I recently encountered a situation, though, that is putting that commonly accepted ideal to test. I helped friends move.

I know, I know, I know. Stupid, right? How many times have I joked about a possible situation where someone asks, "Hey...you have a truck, right?" And I respond with, "Yeah, and you can borrow it whenever you would like." It’s an easy out to any number of possible heavy lifting, time consuming, friendship busting issues. It is a witty repose that in theory sums up my (wished for) attitude nicely. But in the real world, I am not that person. I like to help people. I enjoy it, almost perversely so. The tougher requests placing hardship upon me are more likely to be accepted. On the plus side: stronger relationships are born from hardship rather than easy going, beer swilling times. On the negative side: your subcontractor may play and prey upon you to your fiscal detriment placing you in a Maslow-like hardship where your every wish is now for him to burn in hell. A hypothetical example. ahem.

And yes, I know I know, moving is a process fraught with tension, sweat derived arguments, and stink eye moments. Happy happy, joy joy for the excitement of a new start in a new place never supersedes this is freaking heavy and the arse on the other end of the couch is scrapping the wallllll!!!!! Why risk a great friendship over the benefits of helping a friend move? Because they really need it. And if it is that type of friendship, you would do almost anything to help them out.

So after two long days of Mr. Fix-it Up as best as possible, eleven hours of heavy lifting, and thirty hours of driving, I sit here happy knowing my good friends are well on their way to realizing a ten-year dream: living in the place they love filled with hope and opportunity. And I wish them well.

And if they come calling about another move in the future...I will gladly answer the call.

The speed of smell

2010-06-12T08:41:00.005-05:00

from an older story as yet unplublished....

Working at the speed of smell

One of the most damning frustrations in my line of work is wait time. It seems that excitement and sense of urgency never line up with the availability of material, labor, or money. Dealing with this frustration has translated into a maturity that I had not considered or even knew to know about as I plod the entrpreneural tundra.

Have you heard,"The squeeky wheel gets the oil" or any number of other variants? I am not a fan of being squeeky. I like to get in line like everyone else. I like being treated like everyone else. We are all in this together and we all learned fairness on the playground. But in this world, not everyone shares my value. Not everyone has held onto the playground rules we all learned. Jumping to the front of the line seems to be a life-focus for many people.

So, I have learned that 'fair' is a floating value that I alone define each and everyday. I can fly off the handle and be upset at being skipped over for the third time at the bar-rail or I can tip better and move up on the priority list.

Today I needed some information from my lumber company, information that would usually take a week to obtain. I want it now. This is the information age and snail mail is completely NOT the process I expect for any business related communication. I asked my supplier to try harder. And he produced what I needed in about an hour.

And I am very thankful for this extra effort. Sure, I am the person spending a good chunk of money with him, but I like to think that this did not become the only reason Frank jumped on my request. I like to think that Frank works hard, appreciates exceeding expectations, and knows that customer loyalty is a multi-facited effort.

So here on December 14th, I get a pass on wait-time frustration. I get to move onto the next step and battle again for speed. And I will likely need to couch the request as extra effort. But if this is what it takes to move quicker, spend less, and smile more: squeek squeek squeek.

The hands of the man

2010-04-20T18:58:00.003-05:00

When is the last time you had a blister? When is the last time you had a blister and worked it over, continued to use that part of your hand?

Me too - a looooong time. Too long actually for a carpenter. I blame the thick calous...kahlll...thick skin on my hands. But a few, two to be exact, days of framing a garage and BLAMO I am a hurting unit. Things move fast in the framing world. Thankfully, I am again framing/nailing all by hand. The pneumatic nailer is a convenience best served for convenience needed situations. Usually, the least experienced worker is given the framing nailer and someone usually gets shot in the hand or misses an eye by "that much". No thanks.

After a winter spent doing finish work, which I love, this spring framing is a great change. Things move very fast. One hour there is a featureless slab, the next two walls and the hint of window openings, door passways. I like the comradiere (sic) too. Hard, tough, physical work out in the open and yer hands are getting beat up and the sun beats down and cars pass by and a breeze cools you in a serene moment between toe-nailing the trusses and you almost fall, again, and the beer at 3:30...ahhhhhhh. It is so cold and so crisp and life is so full for for a moment. For a day.

This is a good life. I am thankful for my family and my girlfriend who actually likes the manly man sweat and effort person who comes home.

Yeah, it was a good day. And I will revel in it, roll around in it, as long as I can. And tomorrow...I get to repeat it all again. hells yeah. Can you see the hands of the man? Can you smell the sawdust, feel the cracked dry skin? I wish you could. It is a great feeling.

trippin

2010-04-14T11:48:00.002-05:00

I'm on the cusp of an unscheduled trip to Mlps. My cousin Michael died recently and unexpectedly. And it has me wondering.

Mike had followed a similar path of employment as I had. His expertise took him away from Minnesota abroad to the outside world where fish are not as plentiful and the women a tad bit more handsome. I think we both may have been seeking a separation from home that gave us space to grow up and develop our individual traits and talents.

Mike took his to another level entirely though. He became a regular ex-Pat employee taking assignments in China, Korea(?), and Malaysia(?). Me? I too lived in another country for a while: Texas. But I fled the territory recently, guns a blazin. Most recently, Mike took an assignment in Mexico just across the Texas border. He lived on the US-side and jumped across daily for work as is common in them there parts.

I took a turn from my distance with family and came close to US center (StL) and often visit family up north, out west, and right here in river city. And as I noted above, Mike has me wondering.

I am wondering how it is he came to continue his far from home living. I wonder about lifestyle choices. I wonder about small choices of living that we all make. And I wonder if he did not find a path back to family like I have.

And I am left with 'I don't know' and am not going to pursue gaining this knowledge. You see, I think the joy of Mike and the relationship we had was great. Is great. I accept Mike for who he was to me and I think he did likewise. The particulars of his lifestyle, his choices are really not of interest to me.

There is going to be a 'share stories about Mike' after the visitation tomorrow. And though I don't regret being closer to Mike in life, I am very excited to better understand Mike in his passing.

Hey Mike, cheers and I wish you well.

Your loving cousin,

Dean

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/twincities/obituary.aspx?page=lifestory&pid=141773476

2010-04-13T09:15:00.002-05:00

I broke into the stack of shorts the other day. It is that kind of weather already. I anticipate armpit sweating soon and insatiable urges for cold water from the hose bib.

The tax man is hounding me, not literally, to get my money off to the black hole in Washington DC. It not the money that bothers me though. It is the feeling like I am playing a truth or dare game. What can I deduct and what is borderline yes/no and what is outright incorrect? There was a tv reality series that was based on taking engaged or newlyweds and placing them into a very non-supportive environment. I think it was called Temptation Island.

Now, anybody who knows anything about life knows that you do not surround yourself with a negative element when trying to follow a positive path. Your own moral compass only takes you so far. We are not Gandhi, not Sister Teressa (sic), nor Martin Luther. And even they bled when pricked, pulled their robe, wrap, suit pants on one leg at a time. The support of your environment is an important aspect to your life. In our teen age years I guess we'd blame peer-pressure for choices made and actions taken out of our normal area of operation. So as I ponder the moral aspect of my taxes I am uncomfortable because the process is not clear. It is not supportive of fairness and honor. And it is not the environment I want to inhabit for any longer than it takes.

Yep, it is just so but it sucks and I don't mind sharing that I do not like it one bit.

An Orange Monkey Suit and a Smile

2010-04-08T08:26:00.003-05:00

Tonight, I host a party. I have advertised it as a Debutante's Ball. The "coming out party" played well too as Soulard is Bohemian and well...well.

One could call it an open house, I suppose, though I think of that term applicable to marketing events. It's just not personal enough for what I aim to pull off.

There is a costume shop in Soulard. It is very eclectic and the owner and odd odd duck that walks oddly even for a duck. I hope to reach an agreeable price for an orange tuxedo I see in the window. It has the ruffles and I know it will be way too small but I am hoping and emergency tailor can assist too. It would be perfect. My nephew and I have had a long-standing love affair with Dumb and Dumber and I have always wanted to exhibit my true depth of humour: basal and crude. And an orange monkey suit is a great start.

In keeping with a circus-like atmosphere, free hotdogs served from a 7-11 rotisserie and canned beer too. I plan on plying the house in flip flops and hope the rain stays away.

I am already planning the bloody mary and biscuits/gravy brekkie for Noon tomorrow with my special gal who will likely drink me under the table.

I hope you can attend. I know you have been invited. As the house is now for sale, this blog's viewers are limited to you and...well, you.

Cheers and bring on the elephants!

If you have one take away, it is this:

2010-04-07T08:04:00.005-05:00

don't depend on people you don't have a relationship with to follow up on their commitments. I am either stuck on a bad string of conincidental events or this is really how people act. I hope the former.

$200 for a realtor luncheon and nada. Well, not nada, but a very very limited showing. I thought I had picked a day when realtors set aside the whole day for reviewing showings (as per advice from a realtor). I thought my invites were clear, concise, and had impact. The responses were poorly communicated but atleast I had an idea of who and how many.

nada. Well, not nada, but very very limited. Actually, the only realtors that showed up were all from one office management: Re/Max here in Soulard. In this regard, I am thankful. Not just for their attendance but for the fact that they specialize in Soulard listings and the market in this special pocket refered to as 'the island'.

The feedback was a resounding success with regard to the work performed and the product produced: feature rich and attention to details highly tuned. There are some elements they recommended I attend to, for instance, closing off the upstairs bathroom and furring in a formal closet. This is not the only time I have heard that comment though I also get an opposite reaction. I trust the realtor response, though, for input more attuned to sale-ability. To this point, I plan to follow up on that action item.

I was...how do I put this?...berated by one person on pricing. Great feedback regarding bankers, lenders, and the jacked up process for value assessment. It is clear that many many deals fall through because of huge changes to the housing appraisal process. I will need to really sharpen my pencil and address this issue. When asked how to mitigate the risk or access the price point, I received a blank stare. Am I missing the obvious? Was that whole conversation simply a conversation, a primer, for negotiations? Am I being beaten up on price before there is a client available? I don't doubt it but I would like to think this was a frank conversation about the state of affairs for home sales and financing in particular.

Hold on...I'll write again soon. I really need to sharpen for a while. laters.

If you pee in the shower...

2010-03-29T12:40:00.007-05:00

...don't take a bath. One is assuming that the shower/tub are a single banger. But how true, eh? Kinda like, if you are a plumber, don't chew your nails. Yeah, it's like that. ewe.
Yesterday's open house was a trial run and it went well. I was part of the StL BigBigTour event which was not really a sale related event but at $15, it was the right price for bringing some people to the door. Most importantly, it gave me THE date to work towards having everything complete in the house. I came up short on the plumbing finals, noticeably one pedestal sink was missing. All else was in place though. And the place looked killer.
The day was cold, grey, rainy, and windy: a perfect day for a trial open house, one with two fireplaces that felt warm and cozy. No high potential buyers came through but again, I would rather have a day or two more to be fully functional for those folks.
Next up, a realtor luncheon on 4/6 and listing on the MLS. That in work, I will turn to framing the garage and it's completion in 6 weeks. Privacy fencing and landscaping and bingo, done.
My heartfelt thanks to Alethea Fox for working til midnight Saturday last cleaning floors and windows. She had to work bright and early Sunday morning too. A great great friend, very selfless and giving.
If you drop me a line, I will forward you pictures of the final which are on PicasaWeb. I find out Wednesday night if I am awarded the USGBC honor and in a month the StL Landmarks Asso. honor. I reallallallllllyyyy am hopeful for both.
Cheers.

One small step for man...

2010-03-25T23:22:00.005-05:00

I have been a child with aerospace and flight on the brain and in the heart since I was a weeeee tot. My parents tacked up a poster of Neil Armstrong in my dorm room as a surprise message when they dropped me off for life on my own. And I think at this point in my project, it is fitting to make an analogy here.

Pictured is the first tread on the staircase. It is a small task, this one tread but it represents a culmination of many months, many hands, and many pounds of flesh. This tread, and it's sixteen brethren, have been crafted from joists salvaged from the original 1850's structure. I have saved these joists from further damage and deterioration while I stripped the structure down to a salvageable shell. I spent hours carefully pulling hand-cut nails from them to give to a local artist. My nephew Addison spent hours cutting and sanding the blanks to a rough state. A friend, Nathan, spent hours making the final surface preparation and then applying three coats of polyurethane. And then I spent a day cutting them down, scribing the sides, and carefully easing them into place.

I have talked about making these stair treads from the beginning of this two-year journey. I have always felt they were a key aspect to my work here in Soulard and representative of what I want to accomplish: Being a good steward of the community, trying to honor the dedication and hard work of bootstrap people who saved this historic area, running a sustainable project that went beyond recycling cardboard and incorporated a cradle-to-grave approach.

I have had to wait and wait and wait to see how and if these treads would work. They need to meet today's code requirements but they are non-dimensioned lumber when plaster and lathe created straight, plumb walls. They need to meet the high finish specifications I have for this project and not look like old wood slapped down as a cheap attempt to pander to green building. And above all, they need to be the one example of what I embody as a carpenter, as a human.

Hope you had tissues available 'cause you might have needed to cry right there.

I am very near the end of the house portion of this project. The punch list is only half a piece of (recycled) cardboard. I am very very close. And I am very tired. And someone is going to get a gem of a house. Amen.

Like second nature

2010-03-23T07:34:00.003-05:00

There are things one can do after reaching a certain level of experience without conscious regard for how to execute them. I doubt TJ Oshie considers how to balance his weight when snapping a shot off. AFox likely does not consider if she tamped enough before brewing up my americano. And I do not wonder which tool to use when in a predicament.

Yesterday, as will be today, was nuts. And in the course of fast, things happen. Nails bend instead of drive, boards get cut off 9/16ths too short, and plans change and then change again. And the key seems to be not so much avoiding errors but rather in understanding how to deal with them. Not making a follow-on mistake that further screws things up to the point of breakdown. And, can one do this and still reach the goal?

It helps to have excellent advice and others to bounce ideas off of too! Many thanks to Bill and Nathan for giving me the looks I completely deserve when I suggest...oh I dunno, "I think I will rip that one off and replace it with caulk."

It also helps to have at your disposal almost any tool one would need to saw, trim, or otherwise modify materials in the oddest directions. And caulk. Thank you Lord for caulk. In your wisdom you allowed our eyes to discern 1/64th of an inch and caulk to cover that tiny tiny gap.

So on the cusp of another crazy day, I hope you find the caulk you need to assist you in the expertise you have in what you do where you are.

If you thought you were busy before....

2010-03-22T06:54:00.004-05:00

Asses to elbows, a mad scramble to do anything and everything, multi-tasking to the n-th degree. This is life right now. I am enjoying the madness as I make a huge push to complete everything needed for an open house one week from....yesterday oh my God help me and my tired butt and worn, frayed head.

In keeping with the hectic insanity, the plumber showed up last night at 8pm (Sunday) to work a couple hours. He is an odd duck, yes, more odd than I. In reviewing the details and materials on site, I am missing a few key items and today opens with an urge to be upset with other people for my woes but realizing I am responsible.

I spent an hour seeking and reading blogs of my nephew and his (new) teammates in Oostkamp, Belgium. They are racing bikes for the Fuji Test Team at a development camp. It is pure madness on the road for the boys. Broken jaw, strained abdomen, fractured pelvis, road rash to the face, bikes mangled, cars pulling bikes at 50kph as the weave through tight tight streets and dodge 'road furniture'.

And my life seems more calm. And as always: a choice. I choose pressured deadlines and I respond and things work this way for me. And after this mark in time, I will pick another.

Have a great morning peeps.

Fast, faster, and faster-er

2010-03-12T08:19:00.003-06:00

A quick note: things are moving at light speed on 1837 S 10th. (yes a pun follows) Electrical finals are complete so switches turn stuff on with bulbs in them and this yellow-ish light illuminates and life off extension cords is over. man, what a difference.

Next week brings plumbing finals so if you would like to come by and pee...in...a....toilet, not outside, you are more than welcome.

As I near the end, the energy expended goes vertical. Each task takes all the tools you have in your arsenal but only for a few minutes. So your day ends up being a hunt-fest for that one wrench, put to use for a turn or two, then put it back and clean up the mess you just made. eerrrrggggg. The framing of the garage will be a welcomed shift of focus.

Oh yeah, the garage foundation is being placed over this next week. Cool stuff too.

Okay, off to work. New photos posted. Enjoy. Laters.

OOOPPPSSS, one last note. I have been nominated for a Growing Green Award (along with four other STL builders)! I find out at a presentation on the 31st if I have won. like I have said already: wow. more on this later...

It's okay to get help

2010-02-04T07:52:00.002-06:00

Perspective is a tough piece of bread to chew sometimes. I recently asked for help from a good friend and building professional to help me move 1837 forward. The progress was haltingly slow and it was starting to cause me grief with poor sleep and a somber step in my walk.

Press forward two weeks and the trim is prepped for installation, stacked neatly and staged for efficient work. Bathroom floors and shower pans are installed and ready for grout, seal. Custom shower and spa-tub walls are laid-up, the tile spacing tight, linear, and clear, consistent. The bullnose a clean transition from walls to tile, from curb to floor, from surround to kick panel. And the accent tile is laying up beautifully: the base tile a perfect palet for the pop and flash of glass and stainless steel tile.

Pictures forthcoming. In the meantime, imagine your dream shower...you're there with me.

Music as life

2010-02-04T07:37:00.006-06:00

This late winter, I attended a symphony performance. Being a student of orchestra, high school, has lent me a certain appreciation of classical music and the performance being presented. In this regard, I was really looking forward to the concert. One of the pieces being performed was something most all of us recognize, if not the whole piece the first four notes: Beethoven's fifth.

The first half of the concert, though, were pieces I had not heard before. I spent my time, instead of reliving my playing this music, listening for recognition of specific instruments by sound, by tone, by timbre. At one point I got goose flesh from haunting wisps of sound from afar, the trumpet backstage. In large, I watched the ballet-like, synchronized movement of bows, each player still unique with their own creative sound but marching along in unison, tight tight syncopated stops and starts, extreme flows in crescendo and diminuendos (sic). It felt to me like a leaf on a flowing stream racing over rapids then swirling in eddy pools then casting into stagnant pools.

So with a body of knowledge about performance and a heart-felt appreciation of symphony and the complexities and games played within the music, between the players, over our ears, I was quite moved. I have a desire to exude that passion in my professional, career life too. Work is such a large consumption of our time it captures much of our thought and passion and energy. If I could make my work a passion versus an avocation, that would be amazing.

With all of the above in mind, I am considering Architecture as another career move: to know and understand legacy structure: form as function and form as art; to explore and exploit social structure and status, history of people and humanity through architecture; the development and advancement of people and societies as seen through changes, subtle to radical.

I feel that architecture could be an outlet for my creativity. It could be a means to put in to play my desire to have an impact on my environment in a bigger way than project by project, house by house, one client to another: less temporal and shallow. Longer term and a dive into the deep end of the pool. A brave action.

A means to take a theme, an idea, a form and create it then nurture it as it develops and advances. Watch it take different forms and work it's way down paths that work, that don't work. Nudging it along as I too grow and mature and discover things I didn't know I didn't know.

I don't know. Maybe. A great though for now as I continue to love my detailed finish work and press for sale of my project.

Reason d'etre

2010-01-18T08:22:00.003-06:00

How often do you visit the question: am I supposed to be doing something important, momentous, significant? I wonder about this more often than I think is 'normal'. Most movies can set me off on this tangent and certainly almost any book though when the cat FINALLY left the house with his hat and pink stuff, not so much.

I wonder if my repeated self-questioning is an expression of doubt about my present choices. I like to live as if I have been created with a certain set of gifts and abilities. And that it is my duty to apply those gifts in the manner I can best create in this life. Inside the duty I find happiness and a sense of calm, especially when the goal attained, when the task completed is big in scope, long in coming, and required me to overcome adversities great and small. An Ironman. Buying a condemned POS and fashioning a testament to Soulard history and a place to call home again. Struggling with no money and living richly.

Maybe my repeated wonderment about a purpose for this life is an expression of my need for big goals and grand challenges. In a fight against being lazy and acquiescing to the numbing pleasure of sloth having a self-imposed 'must do' is important for me. I took on a coach for Ironman training for this reason, mainly. And I share and discuss my house project daily with my friends and family for this reason too. It keeps it, the long term goal, alive and real and grounded. I feel that if I were to slack and quit I would be letting many more people down than just myself. And some days this is what keeps me sane and grounded. It wakes me up and has be don the dirty work jeans and paint and paint and paint.

I'd like to be continually inspired by my goals and my daily efforts but I am not. Mr. King and other great leaders, great people, almost heavenly beings seem to be a constant of inspiration. I know this is not the case for those people. They had self-doubt probably a tremendous amount more than I can comprehend. And they forged on. They found a way to keep putting one foot in front of the next.

And maybe that is what I am built to do. Maybe making that conscious choice day in and day out is my purpose. That is not an inspiring thought to me. So, I think I will continue to wonder about my 'movie moment'. And I will likely die still wondering but knowing it has been there all along.

Put it in me Scott

2010-01-07T22:03:00.004-06:00

I am I the only one who misses the naughty Quizno's easy bake oven? It was raw and edgy and adult and I miss it. Check that. I am not the only one. I think Scott misses the oven. http://fsucreativestrategy.blogspot.com/2009/04/controversy-in-quiznos-land.html

It seems like most funny, edgy material is nixed here in the US and especially more so here in Saint Louis. Local radio stations bleep out G** damn it in songs. wtf? When did my country loose it's sense of what being an adult means? How did things get so dumbed down that edgy means watching The Housewives of Orange County? Or Jersey Shore? Dang it, this sucks.

I mean really sucks. When working on the pc for an extended time period, I source my favorite music station from Vancouver, B.C. The rock/alternative mix is perfect and fuck if there ain't swear words allowed on the air. The DJs discuss candidly and frankly topics that are pertinent. And I laugh my ass off and sing and smile. And isn't that the whole point of listening in the first place?

You know, maybe Disney bought Quiznos. Maybe a right-wing Republican group swallowed up my Saint Louis airwaves and is slowly polluting my mind with Government controling bullshit, like disco. I worked with a guy that was Mr. Conspiracy Theory. One night in a NASA test bay, about 3am, Mr. Haynes decided to enlighten me about the world and the government. I mean, we still had four hours on duty to sit and watch six thremocouples in an environmental chamber do NOTHING. So, I learned from Mr. Haynes that the government in the early 70's was beginning to get flack for running a secret bombing operation in north Vietnam and they needed a way to deflect the attention. They needed a diversion. And we all know that sugar works better than salt so..."Disco was created and distributed by the government to placate the masses, maaannnn."

I don't know. Maybe. But give me liberty or give me death, now that's what I mean, man. I spent waaaayyyy toooo much energy and time becoming an adult so fuckin treat me like one and allow me to drink, smoke, and listen to what I want.

amen.

Da Doo Doo Doo, Da Dah Dah Dah Dah

2010-01-04T07:36:00.003-06:00

Does music ring in your ears more often than not? Would you say that certain songs elict a strong memory of good or bad times? Can you feel the heat of tears well up when you hear that melody? Maybe you are disposed to puppy kicking music?

Music dominates my life. No, I am not a musician and I guess I am thankful for that. Work seems to wreck in the worst sense/skew in the best sense one's passion. If you are working in an area of passion, is your joy tempered by duties and a requirement to write, sing, construct, paint, cipher? Construction has become like that for me. I feel that creative urge to build something often but not with the same burn as I used to; the realities of what materials and what tools and how much money and how long flood my mind and kind of muddle the initial flash of excitement. I still choose this profession and I do love it. And, it helps me not afford a great lifestyle.

If I were a musician, I would likely not be anything more than a great executer of song. I would likely have nightmares about an iniability to create greatness. Great song writers and musicians for me are like amazing atheltes for some. They have an aura about them that seems as if in a moment's notice they could fashion an incredible movement, flow in a way that I never new existed or was possible. I know where my skills lie, lay?, and free-flowing creativity is not one of them. I am a man of structure: a equals b and b equals c so...I guess that's one of the wonder's of music. My favorite artists and songs are one's that play with the structure and normalcy of music. They are off key like Alice in Chains. They have syncopated beats like old Police. They vocalize in an odd fashion and harmonize beautifully like Phoenix, and The Dixie Chicks, and The Tragically Hip.

Music can take me to amazing highs and lows all without leaving the seat I am in. It can flip my mood in a heartbeat. It seems to have magical powers over me. And that is the way I like it.

And if I could ever make someone experience that through my gifts that would be a great day indeed.

Cool!

2009-12-30T12:44:00.004-06:00

That was my first uttered word of the day which I delivered to a deserted streetscape. You see, it snowed lightly last night and gosh darn it if it wasn't still snowin' big fatty flakes.

As I walked to coffee this morning, I fell into a slight smile in rememberence of walks home from high school basketball practice. Sometimes it was snowing and in the small berg of Austin winter traffic after 9pm consisted of, well, nothing. So the city landscape was deviod of the constant man-made noise of tires on pavement, snow blowers in action, dogs barking. People were tucked warmly inside going brain-dead watching whatever was on tv. psst a secret: Minnesota folks LOVE reruns of Family Feud. Gosh darn that Richard is such a hoot!

Walking along I could feel the snow underfoot crunch with each step, the sound echoing off the houses as I walked by. The flakes fell noiselessly but they made a ticklish tap tapping as they found the earth. The pure calm and serene environment was something I relished at the time. And these days I hope to incorporate as much of it as I can into my life.

I smiled as walked to coffee in rememberence but also because I felt happy and at peace. Usually my mind is up to something first thing in the morning and in that crowded place I don't know if I am always present to what is going on around me. So, today I just tried to enjoy the moment. I almost kept walking. Maybe tomorrow I will.

We all aren't built with the same skills

2009-12-26T16:20:00.002-06:00

I took a drive up to Minnesota recently for the '09 Holiday visit and came across much destruction along the way up (and back). I came to the conclusion that all of us are not built with the same skills. I guess one could serve up a Darwin-like statement but I think it is a little more subtle than that.

A little word problem for you. You rememeber those don't you? A train leaves Chicago at 6:17am traveling at 52mph in a northerly direction...yada yada yada, and then you are supposed to figure out how much each passenger pays in ticket fare. I think I am safe saying the majority of children hated and feared these problems and 'learned' to hate math as a result. You placed yourself in the 'I like these' and the 'I hate these' categories. A former girlfriend drove her teacher, a nun, to a frenzied state of histerics during the learnin' of word problems. If I recall correctly, the nun was jumping up and down and screaming, "Why are you doing this to me???!!!" before ejecting her from the classroom and banishing her to a special class. Her mom drove her to school thus avoiding the short-bus ride.

So the word problem: if six cars and two semi's are heading northward at a sedate 35mph, straining to remain on the roadway against a 25-40mph gusting wind, delicately feeling their way across a snow, ice, and rain covered tarmac...why in God's name is there an SUV passing us up going 50mph? That's not a classic word problem, I know, but really! why?

My first thought as I see the SUV approach very quickly in my rearview mirror is, "Idiot". A comedian I saw once said any driver going faster than you is an idiot, any driver going slower than you is a danger. My second thought that comes right after is, "Crap, I hope he(she) doesn't loose control as he(she) barrels past me."

Seriously, I was amazed this driver was still keeping the vehicle on the road. My drive wheels would spin and torque the truck I was driving at any speed over 40 mph. Washing out the front-end would be perilous and would likely produce what in the span of 10 miles was five cars flipped over. Upside down with doors open. These were freshly flipped cars. I don't know why there weren't any just plain old skidded into the ditch cars; there were just cars flipped over.

And this guy(gal) was, relatively, flying along. I'd kinda like to tell ya I saw him(her) a short space later, flipped over. But, no such thing occurred. I never saw them again.

But people, there is something wrong with someone who drives along like that, oblivious to the danger apparrent, ignorant of the wreckage impending, or uncaring enough to give pause to their desire for expediency versus placing their and other peoples' lives at risk. It is a completely selfish act. It is beyond 'idiot' stage. It is just stupid.

I drive beyond the speed limit all the time. But I am thankful that my Minnesota roots and raisin' have instilled a hubris and humility, a common sense to my driving. Happy Holidays to you and to my SUV friend. God speed.

I had forgotten

2009-12-06T10:45:00.004-06:00

I had fogotten how much I enjoy design work. When I worked white collar, it was a part of my daily duties. There were innumerable choices and decisions to make that were detail-oriented but directly related to the way customers would interface with the machine: button styles and function, grip and form profiles, price targets and manufacture related compatibility. Dull to discuss but exciting to toy with especially at 3am when most good design work gets done. The office cube with it's nappy blue carpeted walls and dust bunnies becomes a nest of creation when the nasty leftover coffee and Dolly Madison doughnuts kick in. The AM station, tejano music blaring from the cleaning staffs' carts mixing with mp3 rock and roll spilling from the computer speakers was a fitting environment to just let ideas flow.

With the edging-in of winter here in the StL, the time to build the garage is here. I was hesitant to take this on for a long time. It is a sizable chunk of money and in most cases a dollar into a garage does not equate to a dollar on the sale of the property. StL life, though, dictates a demand for a secure place for your car, ladder, mower...basically anything that could be taken to the pawn shop; car windows are a common target for that purse or briefcase left on a seat. The price-point and the level of finish on 1837 So. 10th St is premium. Not having a garage would be a major detractor especially for clients considering a move from the County. Maslov's hiearchy kicks in for County folks considering a move into the city regardless of which neighborhood they are considering. DANGER DANGER DANGER Will Robinson!

So as I sketch out the garage and start to add the details, I am getting really excited about building it. If I could start tomorrow, I would. Brick verneer, transom french doors, parapet style roof line, the garage is going to look great and harken to the flats that once occupied that square of land; where immigrant families once huddled and scraped by, two cars and a lawnmower will now reside. Times have changed indeed.

Keep an eye out for new pics in the coming weeks. There is much happening. The garage will be another great example of the care and attention to detail I am hoping the buyer will appreciate...and be willing to pay for.

Cheers, Dean

24ozs of smallness

2009-12-03T09:27:00.004-06:00

I'm helping oversee the development and nurturing of a 1.6pound kitty until he becomes a Christmas gift and man, this guy is tiny. But, he craps like a man.

Jack is a Soulard Market baby and for the low price of $20, you can get a kitty, a litter box, the litter stuff, Purina kitty food, and a toy. Dang, makes me wonder what I would go for in an alternate reality where people are pets and pets have TWO opposable thumbs. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1l1VyrpvVFY)

Jack has parasites in his belly, a common deal the vet says, and he makes very DairyQueen-like piles in the box. Poor guy mews a low, achy sound and I think he isn't feeling so hot. As cats are won to do, he shovels some litter over the top of his makings buuuttttt as kittys, apparently, are won to do, he gets some on his paws. So poo-time has become a very frequent activity for the whole family. There is guiding him to the box, watching him mew and ache, picking him up and cleaning his paws, and choking back the dry heaves all the while. ug. I feel for the little guy and I spend a good deal of time just settling him down and holding him as he mews his discontent.

1.6 pounds is nuthin. That's like one tripple cheese burger from Hardee's which is crazy stupid anyway but still: a cheeseburger. Unlike a cheeseburger, Jack can romp and play and entertain all for hours on end with joyful antics, pooping aside ofcourse. I read once that dogs, which I tend to like more, have 12 distinct sounds but cats have 200+. I think someone was paid fairly well to figure that out and I am not sure how the heck one discerns 'distinct' without projecting anthropomorphic definitions, a very non-scientific idea. But I think Jack is definitely pressing the 100 plus sound edge. Heck, he just dropped twenty while perched in the box. And this is entertaining too. The sounds. Really grounds you in that this is a living being deserving happiness and joy.

All of us should have that too - even at work. Hope you enjoy today friends. I plan to swing my hammer and then watch Jack episodes 1,2 and 3.

Paying the price early

2009-11-15T11:53:00.003-06:00

I have started tiling the kitchen floor! YES! The finish-work has begun on project 1837. Come see.

This day is long in coming and there has been much involved in just getting to this point: decisions made on saving this, trashing that, reworking these, building this area up new. The kitchen floor is a concrete slab saved from a 1970's addition and upon initial inspection, there was nothing wrong with it. But when you look at it with an eye for tiling, it has some dips, some humps as much as a half inch over a foot or so. That is completely unacceptable and as my choice for flooring are twenty inch tiles, the humps and dips translate into horrible misalignment.

At this point in construction you really only have one choice. I researched and found a floor leveler concrete-like product that feathers at the edges and finds it's own level: doesn't need to be spread to a final flatness. Once you crawl around with a straight edge and mark out the hollows for filling, you simply mix and pour. But then there is the tar-like adhesive left over from the 1970's linoleum tile to strip. Oh, and the concrete lip at the slab edges to grind down. Heck, everywhere you look there are things to address before you can tile. They pop up like dandelions in an otherwise clear lawn.

Though some of these detailed items could be ignored, the price to pay is huge when you reach the final step of finishing. In this case my floor would be littered with high ridges, toe/foot snagging edges, and look like crap. Try setting cabinets on an uneven floor too: pure hell. The final product always ends up poor. An eye for details can see this readily apparent in many remodel projects and 'flipped' houses.

And that is not me. So, come on by, scan across the kitchen floor, and give me a silent compliment by not noticing anything but maybe the choice of tile. I will know. Have a great weekend.

That person is definitely this that way

2009-11-09T19:58:00.005-06:00

Air travel is always an interesting experience, especially when one hasn't hit the concourse in months. Ploddng the polished concrete, purusing the blue carpeted gates, paying too much for a wilted lettuce, pimento-loaf sandwich. There are a plethora of things to say here but let me play with the two fine gents I saw this morning in Detroit.

It has been a wonderful weekend. The weather has been unseasonably warm and dry, a thing which has eluded my yearly visitation for too long. In fact, I had become a talisman for driving rain and sleet according to the Michigan Tailgate Crew. "Dean's coming for the Purdue game?! Awe hell. Better make chili and break out the polar gear." Yesterday, as the sun rose, the coats were shed. People warmed to the day and smiled sharing the universal gift of pleasant weather and good tidings.

This morning, the weather continues to yield smiles and pleasantries. The airport process of stripping down and groping in vain for that small metal object that continues to trigger the metal detector has not broken the spirit of the airport crowd. Not even the screaming child can break the mood, "Hey, aaaaawe little bugger. It's gunna be okay. moowah moowah."

So as I fondle...er, ah, pat my pockets for the friggin beer top in my pocket, I notice a man wearing a ball cap. Older gent, retired in age and traveling with a dour looking woman. He looks a little smelly, unkempt if you will, and maybe she is normally cheery but the odor of fourty years of marriage has her irked? Anyway, there he is. Normal enough guy. His ball cap proclaims that he is a McCain/Palin '08 fan. Immediately my image of him takes shape. I tack on the labels and justified morals I associate with policital fans, specifically Republican ones. He's a pro-life NRA man fer sure. Probably thinking debased thoughts about the young, pregnant woman stripping down in front of me. "Your computers out of the bag and panties in a bin please." He has an accountant do his taxes and always pays less than 20%. Yada yada yada.

It is like a flash in my head. The poor guy never had a chance. One hat with text on it and I shoved him into a cubbie hole in my psycie that works for me.

Now, normally I wouldn't have reflected on what I was doing. Not in the here and now. Maybe over coffee and a chat with my girlfriend later. But then there was this other guy. Older gent, retired in age and traveling with a dour looking woman. He looks a little smelly, unkempt if you will, and maybe she is normally cheery but the odor of fourty years of marriage has her irked? Anyway, there he is. Normal enough guy. His ball cap proclaims that he is an Obama for President fan. Immediately my image of him takes shape. I tack on the labels and justified morals I associate with political fans, specifically Democratic ones.

But here's the rub folks. My labels are in alignment, more so, with my leanings. The cubbie hole I place him in, some of me is in there too. It is roomie. Heck, it is a cubbie built for many and much.

Like with my Palin subject, I do this quickly - in a flash. And then I feel...icky. What am I doing? I don't know a thing about these two people. All the thoughts are my stories. They are things of my making. These two gents are canvas without paint, devoid of color or embellishment. And I am stroking away creating a still life, a representation of reality, without any real concept of what I am seeing. I am painting with that voice in my head and not with my eyes.

It is what I do. It is what we, people, do. But I enjoy being able to catch myself at times. To readjust my vision, to reel-in that voice and message, and ask, "Really dude? Are you really going to label, judge, and pigeon-hole other human beings on the basis of nothing?"

So for the moment, I will be open to any possibility for these two gents. I am going to be a wide-mouthed vessel capable of holding many likely realities. Yeah, I am going to be a better person. I really am.

But that TSA agent sure seems mean and man I bet she is a control freak who...oops. Daaaaaaang.

The smokey smell of success

2009-11-09T19:50:00.002-06:00

There are certain smells that evoke a memory, or rather, the hint of a memory. Sometimes that past moment is very slight and etheral. Sometimes that past moment is burned onto the stoney pallet of my mind. I like it this way. I like exploring the new-found, past feelings and emotions that surge into my head. Was I rational in that moment? Was I happy or grumpy? I wonder if Grandma is happy where ever Grandmas go when they leave us. I like to think they go to the kitchen and bake some cookies then serve them to us like Neo in the Matrix. "Hi grandma, I miss you."

It is a rare day indeed but can anyone, anyone! not remember the day Suzy Piccolo threw up in second grade and the janitor we thought was santa claus in the off-season came in and tossed down that...stuff: sawdust and amonia and medicinal rank? Strong smell = strong memory I think, in a way.

The scent of Armour All zooms me to a summer night as a teenager. The parents, I have to believe against better judgement, bought a 280ZX and allowed their son to cruise the streets of greater Austin, Minnesota. Duran Duran played on the radio, a new hit coming from my favorite (still too) movie: a James Bond. A great friend, who would later tell me over a two hour rant about his latest mushroom trip, was riding shotgun. Life was unbounded and I was free in that moment. I relish that thought.

It seems that most if not all of these memories are from long ago. (I am old now so is that a given?!) However, I am hoping I have seared into my head a new smell/moment. It is the scent of hot, pasty grease and the whistling of air across metal corners. It is the slight resemblance to a hot exhaust manifold with new oil dripped on it. But it, the smell, is unique.

This morning my HVAC, first floor heat was turned on for the first time. Like all of the milestones in this project, it is just one of many, a mundane check mark on the Gantt chart. Done. Next. But this is a shell now turned to a conditioned space. It breathes people. And though it is apparently a smoker of sorts, I am warmed (sorry, they just smolder in my head if I don't get them out) by the anthropomorphic feeling that this is a living, breathing house now. A final half day of painting and it will be exuding color and some character. Four weeks and the structure of it's heart, the kitchen, will be lined with marshmallow and taupe and soapstone grey with adornments of stainless steel.

I know one can't force a memory. Those things are of their own accord. But I'd still like to be able to recollect this morning some morning many mornings from now.

Let's Make a Case for Safety

2009-10-30T09:51:00.005-05:00

I find it humourous and rewarding that I came from the white collar world to the blue...soot collared world. There is much cross over that is applicable and there is much to consider about rules, regulations, ways of the schoolyard in both work-worlds that is rediculous when viewed from the other side.

Take safety for instance. My white collar employer took safety quite seriously. There were certification classes and tests and recertification tests and forms and incident reports and hours and hours spent reviewing the stubbed toe Mary got while leaving the bathroom stall. stupid toilet paper roll. really. Humor aside, this is great commitment to each and every issue. However, 'Days Since Last Lost Work Time Incident' was and continues to be a big source of pride for many companies. That is not a good thing. It puts great pressure upon the bleeder to not report the lost finger; shame and being the reason the group looses the award, a very nice company logo'd t-shirt!, would be terrible. So many incidents go unreported. "Where's Joe?" "Joe who?....oh!, he, ah, had to poop." conversation dropped.

Safety in the blue collar world is also given much attention, from the big firms, from the insurance companies bleeding them dry too. Don't forget our diligent authorities in the public service. Nothing can shutter a company faster than OSHA except maybe the IRS.

Blue collar, in general though, is an area where you 'man-up' and forge-on. The stories on a construction site will curl your hair. "You see Paco over there? He once shot a sixteen penny through his ring finger and finished out his shift. With it still in. 'didn't want to bleed all over the subfloor." Plus, like pressures in the white collar world, Worker's Comp. claims is something ALL companies want to avoid like H1N1. Paco immediately receives a status of tough that can not be disregarded. That he was an idiot for shooting a nail gun loaded with framing nails through the two-by-four into his hand beneath...that is not relevent. Paco = badass.

Safety is an individual responsibility. You either do or do not follow practical guidelines. The filter mask, ear plugs, and eye wear are hot, uncomfortable, sadistic devices but if they allow your swimmers to swim straight later in life, keep your good eye intact well then why not just deal with it? In the moment, you may seem like a puss for wearing safety gear. Paco is one cool mofo afterall. But consider that without two pounds of sawdust and lead paint in your eyes, nose, and lungs you maaaayyyy just cut a little straighter and cipher a little bit more accurately. 'Two naught double four less the bird's mouth...ah! my head.'

So, you want a fancy t-shirt with "Safety is my number on priority" emblazened on the chest? I'll have one printed up for ya. In the meantime, put some damned safety glasses on.

pick up, release, and no dragging

2009-10-28T20:48:00.003-05:00

Painting, what's the big deal, right? I mean you grab a brush, dip some paint on her, and slather away. You pop on a roller, dip some paint on her, and slather away. Well friends, as it turns out, not really.

I mean, you can. Lots of people do. HGTV seems to make it look that way too. And the results? Not so hot: roller marks, orange peel, under coat show-thru, dips, wavy cut-ins. It seems everyone is a painter. But a good painter? What's it take to be a good painter?

A recent job I completed had a fairly substantial amount of painting required. The client almost shot me when I presented the professional painter quotation for the work. To ease their concerns, I painted and charged them on a time and materials basis. Guess what? To get the same results as the pro, this guy (the one on the computer right now) had to spend twice as much time and in the end saved the client a paltry 10% over the quoted pricing. But, this guy also learned a great deal about painting that he didn't know previously.

Brushes. There are two types of brushes: good ones and crappy ones. Most home owner brushes are crappy. They pickup too little paint, release what paint they picked up poorly, and drag that paint across the medium like a garden rake in soft soil. ick poo. The good brushes make your effort much much lower and great results are easier to achieve. The brush rests in your hand naturally, the bristles trace the inteded path crisply, and the clean up is easy.

Damn. Did I just draft a Purdy brush commercial?

Rollers. There are two types of...oh, you have heard that recently. Let me add one special lovely item about rollers. The crappy ones? They like to shed filament fibers every once in a while throughout the painting day eventhough you may have used the super secret tape-around-the-roller-beforehand-to-get-loose-fibers-off trick. These emancipated fibers you may discover, like this guy, in the primer coat. These curly filaments will stick up like single strands of back hair: not really hairy but obviously not...right. Unlike back hair, though, you can take some sandpaper and gently remove these scoundrels, though the last thing a construction person, this guy, wants to do when primed to paint (ha!) is sand everything down. duuuude.

So, in review, don't buy crappy brushes and rollers. Pay more for great ones. And like all your tools, take good care of them and they will reward you with great results.

Next week, I'll break down the proper way to sharpen your carpenter's pencil! right.

Cheers.

The natural order of things

2009-10-23T08:58:00.004-05:00

There is a natural order to things, construction activities included. Using a sawzall and corded power drill at this stage in my project are not included in that plan. But like any construction man, it is a fun day when you get to power thru stuff and don't cut yer finger off.

My project continues to keep me grounded, inserting humility right next to those kind comments from friends, "Wow. The place has come a long way. It looks great." I ordered my kitchen cabinets two days ago and during those final wranglings, it became apparent I needed to modify my plan for the cooking vent. I knew it was going to be a painful choice but the layout of the kitchen, the asthetics of the cabinets and balance of the room were not something I was willing to compromise. And what was the real cost going to be? A little dust and some sweat. huh, no biggie.

Two days later I am here to say it was the correct decision, however, that little amount of dust is now a medium sized pile, half of which I inhaled through my nose and subsequently sneezed and blew out. And yes, a two-by-four did hit the ground on one occasion shooting out of my nostril like a rocket ship. Like hurricane stories, it embedded into a brick wall. I have a call into the mason.

I guess, though, it is challenging work that defines one's skill and patience too. My recollection of this project is already filled with tough efforts more so than the overall progress of the project. Snipets of visions, like movie trailers, run through my head as memories. That blocking in the northeast corner of the second floor joist system that was a major pain in the ass to nail in. No trophy for the effort. No one will ever see it. But it was a grand effort.
A full 18" of clearance between the floor joists and the foundation dug out with shovel and sweat. Again no trophy and no kudos from friends. Hell, the inspector didn't even bother to measure it. But a great job none the less.
And this kitchen cooking vent too. Great effort (too much effort) with a great result that will forever be burried deep in the walls and ceiling.

So I don't recommend upsetting the natural order of things (events) but if you find need, take pride in the effort you expend and for goodness sake, don't expect any thanks.
Cheers!

How fast can you spend it?

2009-10-20T21:50:00.004-05:00

It is that time in the project where the money flows like a river out out out: kitchen cabinets, appliances, trim and casement, tile, etc. And that, believe it or not, is a good thing.
I mean, it was budgeted so it is not like it is a suprise. And these are the items on the back-end of a long purchasing run that began with new sawzall blades.
I will post some pics of the progress though it is hard to depict perspective on inside photos: there is little depth to them.
Cheers!

Excitation Energy

2009-09-04T08:19:00.003-05:00

Physics majors and those of serious technical knowledge, I appologize in advance...

There is a bit of information, let's call it "knowledge" for now, I gleaned from college physics: excitation energy. I have it grouped along with starting friction versus sliding friction. The idea that it takes a certain amount of extra energy to get things moving versus to keep them moving. Newton had many things right but it always seems it takes a little more to get going versus keeping things going. Besides, I honor him everytime I eat an apple anyway.

Like waking up for instance. Some mornings, it just hurts a little more for no (brown bottle) apparrent reason. Or, working on your Soulard project house, for instance.

Today is going to be a break-through day people. Today I am putting paint on the ceilings. Real finish work is about to commence. And my secret eleven eleven wish is that this input will yield a critical mass sort of reaction. The floor and tile will pop up, the cabinets will be ordered, and the trim and crown will appear as if out of a dream. And the customers will flow like the muddy waters just east and the wine will flow like...well, like AB products in this town.

So, I put to you: what would it take for you to take on something you have been meaning to do but have put off for one (good) reason or another? I further challenge you to get real creative. Think of something really fringe-y, way out there people. Not that painting ceilings and walls is really putting it out there. But work with me here. What would you do, something really big, if only you could get over "IT", whatever it is?

Bon appetite.

The depth of others

2009-08-30T11:55:00.003-05:00

You never know and well that is not such a bad thing. I mean, if you were constantly aware, you'd go crazy. 'cause in a certain sense we all are crazy - trying to figure things out, make sense and meaning of things said, actions taken, furtive looks passed back and forth.

My neighbor and I have a typical neighborly interaction. I exit the casa and he may exit at a similiar moment and, "Hey Cory. How are you?" "Good. You?" yada yada. It is just kinda how things go. Not always though.

"Hey Cory, what's up?" "Oh, off to workout. My girlfriend and I are pregnant." (woa) "Dude, that's killer. Congratulations. How far along are you two?" "Oh, just found out." "This you first?"

Cory's a young-ish man. His girlfriend is younger. He's a bar owner and she works there flirtin' and making cash. Good people, young people with young people lifestyle. Very bling-y cars: oversized rims on a Caddy, Mercedes black and silver - tight. Late nights, late morning starts.

I have it all figured out, right? Right.

"No, my ex-wife and I had a kid but it died the day it was born." ugh. My heart broke, my eyes welled, and throat choked up some. "Cory I am so sorry." "Yea, was really the end of the marriage there too." I can't imagine. "I am really excited for you though!" (big smiles, push the ache low)

So, I will still interact with Cory in the nice, neighborly way. It is kinda just how things go. Not always though. Not always.

Can it stay like this forever?

2009-08-13T18:38:00.002-05:00

A day of hard work. A day of brekkie with friends. A day talkin' Soulard history and kickin dirt with this one and that one that passes by.

A day where the skidder takes me around the up and down my hills my streets. Over the bridge to uppity Laffette for a quick look, then back again to comfort and community.

A day where the dust and dirt spew from rock and mortar from 1850 and cover me and fill my eyes and my ears and I feel history in me, on me. And I feel good thinking I am a part of history. That something will stand as testament to my sweat and blood and passion.

A complete day. And it too will pass and that is good. Because tomorrow I can do it again.

The paper chase

2009-08-07T08:07:00.003-05:00

It goes like this:

* I work on the house but not crazy paced.

* I take on other jobs to enable the eating and breathing that seems just...I don't know, right

* The first of the month, I send all the money I made to eat and breathe to someone else to keep me from going to jail

* The second day of the month, I go to the first item above and begin anew.

And so it goes (thanks Vonnegut). But isn't that how the rat race is played? That's not a complete description of life for me, just one of many ways to look at it.

I was reading last night and the author described money as a concept and not a real thing. Confidence in the system, that the paper has value, that someone will honor the inferred value. Left me feeling like I do when I consider the billions and billions of stars and depth to the galaxy and little 6'4" me down here: very very small and part of a hhhuuuggggge thing.

I swing my hammer, dig post holes, and generally sweat in exchange for pieces of paper which I then exchange for beer, Ted Drews, and phone services. I know there has to be some medium for that exchange of value. Something tangible from the intangible (when exchanging services). But it is kind of an odd process.

Sitting here, I can get the author's point about the abstractedness (a word?) of money. But, my friends, try taking that conversation on with AT&T or your landlord on September first. Suddenly the abstract becomes very real.

Abstract or not, life sometimes really just feels like a constant chase for paper.

Iiiit iiiissss....ALIVE!

2009-07-28T12:53:00.003-05:00

The house, she breathes. HVAC fellas have the units pumpin away as of a few minutes ago. Joy joy. I think it may take a week to pump out all the moisture in the walls, the flooring, etc. though.

Gosh, what an odd feeling to hear and feel the house come alive. It had come sooooo far from the condemned shell, to a few brick walls, to today's first breath.

And to think, all it has taken is a few pints of sweat, a few drops of blood, and a crap-load of money.

cool.

Steppin it up a notch

2009-07-06T08:20:00.002-05:00

I know I am doing it but can't stop. It insiduously permeates my fiber of being and has me in a funk for wayyy too long. In short though, the payoff exceeds the cost...to a point.

Yesterday I bucked up and set in place the stone steps. Addison helped which was a saving grace. Hell, moving four four hundred pound steps around is no easy matter and having a nineteen year old punk to help, well, a good thing. Add in the basic use of round pipes and pry bars, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

Not knowing exactly how to set them had me stuck. Not exactly that though. The angst was more centered around the desire to do it right but not knowing how. Ask ten people, get ten answers. One would think that would help me understand that there is no right way to go about it but no. It figured I asked ten people who didn't really know.

I was a little miffed too about not having experienced guidance. I had an agreement with a local artisan but that fell through. I was excited to work with him, to learn how to work with the stones in a manner that harkens to old ways of doing things. No lifting, simple tools and guides, a result that is proper, appealing, and honors the history of the place.

Ah well, the steps are in. They are functional. They look good.

Now, about those other things I have been leaving for another day....

Cat/dude on a hot tin roof

2009-06-27T01:12:00.003-05:00

Um, okay it was hot enough on the roof @ 10am to 'melt' my shoe. Well, reactivate the glue but still darn it all.

And I was wondering why my shirt was soaked within ten minutes and I didn't pee all day: D hi dr8 Ted.

So, here's some sage advice, top secret contractor inside info that like even HGtV won't divulge:

stay off the freakin roof when it's 90+ outside.

Giving of youself

2009-06-20T19:23:00.004-05:00

We volunteer. We all do in some capacity I think. I'd like to think.

It is good for the soul. And for me, if the right of passage involves effort, sweat, and a little discomfort, well heck count me in. Tossed a large mound of mulch today with new friends. Three some hours in the balmy heat. But good times. Watchin people saunter in, out of the Market. It is good to work. Feels good to just work.

And all for my community. You know the house thing, the project, is somewhat for the community but at the end of the day, I should get paid. I could move on. Got my money, later. But Soulard should get more than that. It should get my best on all fronts. If I can use my gift for work, for toil and help make my new community better, more attractive, I say again count me in.

And what is a community? Buildings for sure. People and establishments. Things architects ponder at night. Things developers market when selling, like, New Town. But community lives inside you. It does or it does not.

I fit in Soulard for many reasons. But the subtle, but most important I believe is the community aspect. I am comfortable here. I fit. I can ride my beach bike given graciously and lovingly from a friend. I look a little goofy. I like that. People here are goofy. But good hearted. Good natured. Well intentioned.

So, next weekend. You want to find me? I am the guy tossing mulch, again. I am smiling. I am tired and dirty. And I am happy.

once, twice, thrice and so on

2009-06-18T22:21:00.002-05:00

The romantic notions of building a house still call to me. It's the repetition though that drags me down. For instance, you don't just paint the window sashes. You paint every edge of every mull, twice. No drips now. Then you scrape off all the excess from each pane, six. Mind you, there are two sashes per window and thirteen windows...double naught, carry the seven...six panes...cipher, naught...dang. That takes like two days for one dude. Luckily for me, I delegated that task to someone below me. I got stuck. Myself supervised. Me went for a bike ride then drank beer all afternoon.

Once complete, though, it is looking really tight. Iron fencing two weeks from tomorrow. Some steps, flowering window boxes and BAM. For sale signage. Cool. Can't wait.

The order of things

2009-06-15T23:29:00.003-05:00

Back a month or so ago, I ranted about my service electricians. They had stubbed out three pipes in the rear of the house and left them jacked at an odd angle in the open trench. It proceeded to rain the next day and since there is not one square foot of earth in Soulard not littered with brick, broken glass, and other detrius of life, the damn walls of the trench caved. Poof. The pipes were where they were going to be.

Honestly, it looked like crap. And there they were, out in the open, a small eyesore leaving the door open to thoughts of incompetence where people couldn't see: framing members, structural integrity, windows out of plumb, etc. Such a small but obtrusive thing wrecking my attention to detail everywhere else; places where I wielded the hammer, hit my thumbs, and cursed violently.

So, weeks pass, calls and messages are left, and it is fixed. The pic shows my efforts to add grace to what is simply a place for phone, cable tv, etc. to enter the house. This is what everything should feel like when we are done with it. Complete and proper.

Are we allowed the time to always attend to matters in this fashion? No, not really. But when we can, why don't we? And just think how happy those electrons will feel sliding up the pipe, slippping around a gentle curve, and plopping in our ears - yak yak yak.

Motherly Instincts

2009-06-10T22:39:00.003-05:00

Two odd things happened back to back recently.
First, my neighbor popped her head into the painting fray yesterday around the late lunch hour and gave me a sandwich. Said her mothering instincts indicated I was not eating lunch and working too hard. I have to say that I nearly cried in that moment. That has to have been one of the most unexpected events I have ever been party to. Hey, I am just doing my thing. Painting away. In a melancholy state of being for the past few weeks but far from displaying it abroad/aloud to the general public. Her mothering instincts. I hugged her before I knew I was hugging her. Made my day, my lunch, and my week.
Next day, today, I get a call from I don't know who the hell it was. Number not familiar but whatever. "Hi." ahhhhh, "Hi. How are you?"??? "Good...you don't know who this is, do you?" Not a chance. "Dionthea???"
Yes, my letter carrier, you know, the ones very afraid of dogs but always enticing dogs? a.k.a. mail lady. Wearing milkbone underpants I guess. Calling me. Yep, I swear, she says her mothering instincts were telling her she should call and see if I was doing alright. I crap you not. Now, no there was no sandwich involved but still, I was secretly incedulous, outwardly thankful. My four minute converstations over the mailbox led to a phone call from the mail lady concerned for me. I seemed down. Down enough I guess for a call from my mail lady.
WTF?
Anyone want to make it 3 days in a row, and maybe buy me a scone and some coffee tomorrow 7am @ SCG? I feel real bad. Honest. Pancakes would be nice too.

I second that motion

2009-06-04T17:15:00.003-05:00

I attended my first working meeting of the SRG last night. My first SRG gathering included lots of free beer, food, and a rowdy air of banter and laughter. As with most Soulard things, the meeting was productive but loose in it's working. There is a patience that under pins much that would otherwise cause yelling and screaming in other circumstances. I really respect the people who have lived and worked hard over many years to make Soulard a great community, open to all, and accessible for all.
As a former official in a leadership position of great import (High School Vice President of the Student Council), I was ready to follow Parlimentary procedure and contribute to a healthy, adult converstation. I mean hell, who else was ready to leverage monumental efforts to drive pint-sized dariy costs for 2% lunch milk down???
That is not eeexaactly what went down peeps. The microphone never left our president's lips and jesting and (poor) jokes were lobbed out at the group. All taken in stride ofcourse and in actuality, how serious does want to entertain passionate feelings about adding like forty new freaking stop signs? Safety: the trump card that stomps any reasonable exchange about freedom of movement, productive use of resources, or cost effectiveness. Cripes. So, a little joking to lighten up the seriousness was fine.
And nothing makes a meeting move along expeditiously like a social gathering with beer! to be had afterward. Kudos to the hosts, the Newhouse's on 9th and Emmet, for a great shindig and very cool house. The flat roof garage...I may ask to copy their design. I likey.
I thought of a new business goal for my little firm as I allowed the details of a profit and loss sheet to float over my head. It would be great to be able to support organizations like the SRG with a cash gift. 'This here flower pot donated by PB&J Houseworks' Nothing says, 'You are big money and successful' like a plastic flower urn sparsely popluated with dried up gardenias, set on a random street corner that dogs pee regularly on.
I move to close this entry. I second. The entry is now closed.

If it's in the dumpster it's good stuff

2009-06-01T21:32:00.003-05:00

So, the project is at that point where every room is in play. You can't move piles of saved scrapings and tailings around hoping that you may be able to use that 1'4-1/2" by 16" strip of 3/4" plywood. And, even if you could use it, it likely located on the bottom of a pile of similiar wood pieces. I need the rooms to be fairly clear of debris and clean as I prime the walls and ceilings.
And to this point the fact that the house is now completely weathered-in and ready for interior painting, it is time to clean...well, house. Naturally, you get a dumpster. A 'roll-off' which is a large metal bin that gets dragged across the yard when they pick it up for haul off and makes really fun mud ruts from street to back door. I figured in my needs and since I am one of those really cool neighborly neighbors, a small alotment for other refuse from next door(s). I did not, however, plan for the trash/treasure factor.
Apparently, someone out there in Soulard needed/wanted a 1'4-1/2" by 16" strip of 3/4" plywood. And, all of the other pieces as well. Those old, worn motorcycle parts I have been hauling around for fifteen years? gone overnight. My neighbor Ed is in a similar situation with lack of storage as he completes his front building for rentals. So, out go the warped and mis-sized door slabs he had been holding on to. gone overnight. And so it goes.
So, tomorrow I call in for the roll-off for pick up. It is, for all intents and purposes, empty.
And isn't that kinda cool? I ached to toss the scraps knowing if I held them long enough I could put them to use. Ed also begrudgingly tossed the door blanks. And now they live on in, probably, another pile somewhere. And, after many years of slowly rotting away in a damp basement, they will find their way to the city dumpster. Or maybe someone got creative and made eclectic wainscoting out of them.
But for now, they are still out and about, and that feels kinda good. Here's a big hug for you planet earth.

I am sweating now

2009-05-27T19:57:00.002-05:00

Is it me or is there more water in the air than...air? Man, it is starting to get sweaty in the afternoon hours. I am eagarly looking forward to airconditioning in the project house. Two somewhat required things have to happen:
1) recieve and install the glass in the transomes, &
2) get some actual airconditioning units installed.
Number 2 happens tomorrow and Friday. Cool. Hopefully the glass happens Friday. Dang, could I be painting the inside of the house in...in...airconditioning?? Nice.
I see outside painting happening, weather pending, very soon too. Maybe make some headway on steps too.
Before all that, though, I think an hour planting some flowers in a container for the front is needed. Home sweat home.

sad begets sad

2009-05-26T18:46:00.002-05:00

I heard it once said, and I paraphrase liberally, "Sad songs are as sad as the listener." I suppose it would follow for happy songs and those kick ass puppy kicking songs too. I believe that saying is fairly spot on, as in, a sad person or a person in a sad moment is looking, oddly enough, for something sad to bring out that sadness in a way one can not express.
wow, way too long. How about, sad people want sadness. A looking for agreement kind of argument.
Take Dick Cheny for instance. He likes war, warring, and anything that mongers war-like behavior. He sees evidence and reallllyyy believes he sees things like weapons of mass detruction burried in the sand. It wasn't there. Never was. But hell in Dick's world, he looked for agreement and darned if he did not find it. bang.
I try to catch myself from following a similar path. Not war! but looking for agreement instead of being open to new ideas and ways of doing things. But sometimes I know I am doing it. I neeeed it. Take sad songs. I needed some sadness today. Tomorrow, maybe I will kick some puppies.

Scattered to the wind

2009-05-23T20:54:00.003-05:00

I am not sure one can ever throw away anything really. I mean, somethings I suppose, but in today's environment wouldn't we actually be disposed to reduce, reuse, or recycle the stuff?
I was going through a large purge of stuff a couple days ago. I needed to downsize once again. All my stuff should really fit into my truck. That is about the right size. How much more should I need really?
Well, as a contractor, it turns out that I need a great many things: tools, measurement devices, tooling, etc. Then there's the left over materials that I hate to toss out, that I would like to use and not waste. Uniform/clothes for work. As a business owner I have files to keep, and a computer, and a box of business cards, etc.
And then a person needs some clothes. Maybe a few favorite t-shirts, winter sweaters I wear like...twice but that one needs for that one day when it's particularly nipply. Socks. A guy needs socks. Nice clothes, some kick arounds, and then the obligatory stained stuff for like oil changes and mechanican type things. My 1975 BMW motorcycle needs massaging once in a while.
But I have been lugging around other things for quite some time. A blender I have used like twice in eight years. Yep, Goodwill. Books I love but that really exist only in my head. CDs. Who has CDs anymore? Yep, Goodwill. My babybook. Keeper. For an adopted kid, that is a keeper. You can call me 'Norman' if you'd like by the way.
But how about the high school year books? I am 40 dude. My best friends forever are somewhere wondering the same thing as I: Dean who? So I loaded up all in the back of the truck and drove off. And I saw a piece of paper fly out. Then another. Just a few really. And it occured to me that it could be that pieces of my treasured high school years, my best friends forevers, were flying out into the world, freed at last from the bottom of the closets, the store rooms, the spiders left longing for a place to perch. And I thought that would be very fitting. I apparently was going to toss them into the recycling bin soon so why not escape and live on?
Figuratively, I suppose I was throwing them away. I did not pine over them and pour amongst the details of who and why and lost loves. I pretty much am focused on the here and now. And now. So for them to refuse to be thrown away was kinda a cool thought. And I wonder, which ones escaped. Which ones survive today?
I'd like to think it's something significant that will haunt me, like Rosebud. Or maybe, a long lost friend who needs help and I will cross paths in an odd karma way and save the day. But likely, it was the grainy picture of me shooting a freethrow in an insignificant game, gangly arms and red ringed tube socks pulled up to there and the short shorts of the day hiked up to, well, there. I looked like a friggin barber pole.
But survive they will. And like many of my most treasured things, they exist in my head and in my heart. And they will always be there for me to call up. And I am consoled by that.
But the blender, it's long gone friends.

You want to help me out now?

2009-05-18T20:44:00.004-05:00

It had been like three weeks. Maybe five. I can't count.
Ed was near. I shouted, "Hey Ed!" He looked at me. The ball was red and I chased it down. I asked Ed, "Hey Ed," I said, "how's a guy build out that there doorway I got workin'?" And Ed said, looking a little less dead, "You just build it out with, I don't know, two by material, maybe biscuit join it, and make the panels line up with the door panels." simple it sounds.
Hard to deal with though. A devil in the details kinda thing. The transom bar begets the jamb and transom frame, which plays into the glass reveals, and ofcourse, makes one wonder how the hell one can keep the whole floppy mess from looking like shit. This is the fucking front doorway.
So I did what any good carpenter would do. I procrastinated. I lost some sleep ciphering and deducting. My tummy began to hurt when folks asked when my front doors would be complete. I began to drink more heavily: emphasis on more.
The past few days, I could take no more. I dove in. I choose a path, plugged my nose, and pulled a Slumdog Millionaire. And you know, it is turning out damned nice. I forgot that I had some skills with finish work.
And then HE came by. Ed. Wanted to discuss the doorways. Ed. Said he wanted to give me some advice. Ed. I says, "Ed," I says. "I have been working on that problem some and this is what I came up with." I spoke at length. And he nodded his head and he says, "Yep."
And that's the end of it. What more does one need from a great carpenter for feed back? "Yep." So, I am not miffed at...with?...at Ed. Ed's just Ed. I'm the troubled one. The newbie looking for assurances left and right. That yep means alot.
I know I do good work. But "yep" means I am going about, at least this task, in the right way. That is different. That is a nuance of the trade that goes beyond good work and implies properness. Sure, Ed's Ed, as I said, and is his way the REAL deal? No. But I aspire to have the skill, patience, and assuredness of Ed.
One might say, when all is said and done, I want to be Educated. ahem.

Taking people for granted

2009-05-16T23:56:00.002-05:00

So, I'd like to say this is a Soulard thing. That the people of the island are unique and their hidden skills are profound. I guess, though, that this is a lesson of bigger proportions.
Tonight I rolled into the xxth annual Crawfish Boil party, fifth year or so in Soulard. A killer deal. $25 for charity causes and all you can swill and consume with the Soulard locals The Pedestrians to boot. Great food and great music too.
For me, seeing neighbors in a party mood, beer in hand, was a great treat. The polite barriers broken down and some real conversations and heart-felt words. Great stuff.
And then the fire came forth. I recognized a gent making room in front of the band. Dusk had fallen and the band started cranking on Ring of Fire. And there was the guy who comes in quiet, orders a coffee once in a while, then exits just as quietly. And now he's center stage, swinging fire balls from the end of chains, around his back, through his legs, syncronized and what not. Very surreal and enchanting. His face was a glow from the reflections and from his joy and passion pealing forth. Very cool.
So, I had not given him much thought previously. Why should I have? I mean come on! flames and fames in front of friends and neighbors??? please. Good stuff. His happiness was fun to watch. He was in his element. Free and flowing. I should be so lucky.
No, I do not promise to not take people for granted ever again. You serious? That's like saying I'll never get THAT drunk again. heh. yeah right. I am just thankful for being aware of the amazing all around me. Atleast today.

100% recycled newspaper in my underware

2009-05-15T23:42:00.003-05:00

ug. I am tired of being dirty. Dirty like not clean, not dirty as in ____ old man. That's a given.

I had to back track some the past few days and open up a ceiling area, climb into the morass which is hot and dirty, look upward, and let plywood shards, roofing tar paper, and shingle grit fall into my eyes. Glamorous I have not been lately people. I think my afternoon dazed and dispondent look is scaring my normally upbeat coffee house friends.

The shower floor looks like a river of mud when I first step in. gross. I think I sneezed the front page of the riverfront times yesterday too. Some story about a drunk cycling coach at Lindenwood.

I used to think the dirt and grime was cleansing in a way really. honest work and whatnot. It still feels like that sometimes. But when the weather turns humid, and the skin gets sticky, a body becomes a magnet for all that is filth. I feel like pigpen by 10am everyday. Did I really give up a salaried desk job with benefits and boredom for this?

An architect came by today and marveled at the transformation; I assume he has tracked the downfall of this property and the pheonix-like rise from the ashes. He commented about the fun part being over. That the finish work was really not so interesting. I am enamored with all aspects of the process. But at this point, I am ready for finish work. It is a refinement of rough work. It is a crisp edge to otherwise knotty and warped lumber. It is cleaner than dealing with roof and insulation and backerboard dust.

I am ready for this last phase. However, I am saddened that it will likely define my creativity, my effort, and my skills. Paint is just paint. But the 150#s of hand-driven nails - a thing of beauty. A perfectly laid tile pattern is mundane. But the demolition saw cut was plumb and deep and true. A nail gun can make trim work easy. But carefully pulling square cut nails for an artist friend to incorporate into...art.

My joy will be in the memories of daily efforts at the end of this one. The final take will be a gentle end to a previous high.

Do I Look Like an Idiot?

2009-05-11T20:43:00.003-05:00

No really, do I look like an idiot? Because that seems to be the look I get when I described what I wanted to do. I got this look from our friends at the Home Depot. I got this look from my friends at a local Building Material Supply Warehouse. And I suspect I would get this look (over the phone) from my roofing contractor.

It's not such a complicated matter. As an engineer, I designed lots of things. My elevator opened envelopes and helped process medication orders. My facilities tray reduced piece part count by 85% and dropped assembly times from hours to minutes. And my blah blah did blah blah. Not the point. Those are long gone times. The point is: I wasn't askin' for a rocket to the freakin' moon today.

I was tempted to cobble something together. But my house project needs a proven and reliable solution, not one I could generate on site. And after turning to this fancy new teknologe I found my solution. Yes, the interweb is a fantastical wonder of electrons and I am damned happy it is here at my finger tips.

If I wouldn't have been able to search for a solution here at home, I think I would have lost many days seeking out the same fix. I would have likely spent more money than needed. I would have contracted a terrible, disfuguring disease and spent the balance of my days interned in a small wooden box lined with brussel sprouts, which I hate.

So, I am pleased things worked out but still frustrated. There are so many things to learn. And everything seems to take alot of effort. It tires me to think of it.

If you are not amazed, you are not paying attention

2009-05-10T17:20:00.005-05:00

I attended the monthly meeting of the Soulard Restoration Group (SRG) last week, no, not just for the free beer and food though...urp, it was good. God bless free stuff.

The powers that be have gathered up photos of the Soulard from the 1970's and placed them into a simple slideshow presentation. It was playing on a wall screen while we SRG members milled about gossiping and making pleasantries. I was impressed by the sheer number of photos and the organization of them by the SRG. I have come to learn the photos were taken as part of an architectural student's thesis work and yes, there are 2 shots of 1837 So. 10th St. These I had already seen but I was suprised by the pride I felt seeing my project house displayed.

I was amazed by the sheer state of decay displayed in some instances. Many, many windows were broken out and the brick work was in a poor poor state. As the instance of decrepit properties grew, I felt at a loss to understand just how the Soulard made it through to become a thriving, healthy community here in 2009. I know the effort I have had to make just to save one property. The thought of hundreds of houses in a similar state of condemnation, all in one concentrated area...how did people keep the faith and toil through?

I have written before about the story of how the Soulard was almost destroyed then saved: an Alderman's wrecking ball plans waylaid via a prostitute and photos. I suspect there were many more challenging moments for the area than I will ever know about given the terrbile state the area was in. So I am amazed and awed by my new friends here in the Soulard, especially those who have been here for many years. Kudos to you for your passion and persistence. And if I feel some pride for also saving a condemned property, it is only enabled because you have lead the way.

Perfectly not perfect

2009-05-07T23:41:00.006-05:00

My brother stopped by for a visit this afternoon. He had not been down to the project since August of last year when he helped with some demolition. We laughed over the poor choice to chuck broken bricks and other 'clean fill' into the cellar opening; I spent the better part of a week clearing out that same cellar space a few months later lifting cinder blocks and bricks up and out from 7 feet down. Needless to say, the structure is now in a completely different state of being.

We chatted some about this and that and as we meandered through thoughts, we began a discussion about a list of things we both want to do before we die. I told him the likelihood that Natalie Portman will take a ride on his motorcycle is slim to none. He was bummed.

I also told him one of my dreams is to build a house. I am now in the middle of that effort but as I talked to Lance about this, I wasn't sure I am going to be awed by the project. Not for lack of effort by any means but rather because I tend to chip away at the greatness of what I do by reviewing all those things that could have gone better: Oh the poor choices of a couple subcontractors!, backing over the edge of a newly poured concrete slab while carrying a ton of bricks, ordering an iron beam 6" too short.

I have overcome the contractor issues, repoured the slab corner, and created a very cool shoe/sweater nook in the Master walk-in closet but...but. So, will these deviations from plan, deviations from perfect not allow me to revel in the glory of what in all respects is a great achievement?

Time will help smooth over the rough edges I think. I will remember the early morning coffee and laughs with new friends at the Soulard Coffee Garden and forget the hour I spent building an exterior window entablature perfectly 4" too short. I will remember the warm feeling through the cup I peed into and forget the toenail I lost kicking an errant 2x10. And I will remember greeting many Dog Park members and their friendly encouragement and forget the piles of poo that had me leaping over the easement.

Now, if only I could remember where I put the keys to the back door...arg.

Paying it forward

2009-04-30T20:52:00.006-05:00

During my corporate stint, my paycheck used to say, "Your compensation provided by satisfied customers worldwide" or something along those lines. I always liked that sitting on the bottom of my checks, in small script. In a four billion dollar (in annual sales) company, it was easy to get lost and not feel like my grind made a difference.

As a blue collar guy and business owner, I see and receive feedback directly from my customers, sometimes on a daily basis. It does feel good to be in the direct line of fire. I make proper and sound decisions because they are the correct way to accomplish tasks, among many not so hot choices, and my customers are happy. They don't see the little things, the extra effort, and that does not really matter. I can take pride in a job well done with just a thank you...and a check.

I hadn't, however, considered my impact on those who I have work for me/with me. They work, I direct them to do a quality job, and at the end of the day, they are paid fairly. Tonight, I paid a visit to a guy who worked with me often over this winter/early spring. His normal gig was extremely seasonal and income followed suit. Not this year. By working with me in his off-season, he earned enough to pay for spendy dental work that was sorely needed. His smile is infectious now. He bought and installed a pool for his little girl to enjoy this summer. And, he has been able to retain his home even when his wife lost her job.

Hey, I am NOT saying I take credit for his fortune. He worked, I paid him fairly. I am just very happy that my good fortune is his good fortune. And though I pay people in the normal construction manner (cash baby, cash), the small script at the bottom of the PB&J Houseworks checks would say, "Our good fortune is your good fortune. Enjoy."

Enjoy.

Big changes afoot

2009-04-20T23:34:00.004-05:00

In the next two weeks you will see:
* front doors!
* insulated walls!
* gutters!

Coming soon:
* drywall
* painted extriors
* front steps

It's an easy excuse...so's that one, and that one...

2009-04-05T20:49:00.005-05:00

What? There are many things that have gotten in the way of progress and, hell, the fun in this project:

1) my framing contractor is a bum and has no honor in his life. He begged for mercy and help in the Holiday season, I helped, and now the next time I (may) see him is in court.

2) my roofing contractor(s) are negligent and don't care. Their crew screwed up my roof so bad, it has had to be removed and replaced. The only person more in denial about their dishonesty is Dick Cheny, and THAT guy has got some reallll issues folks. They will see me in court too.

3) My lawyer, a member of the Missouri Bar Association Ethics Committee, asked for a retainer and has not returned my phone calls for three weeks. Crap, and I wanted to go to court reallllyyy bad.

I have many reasons to note why I may be falling behind in my project schedule. It would be reasonable to use these troubling events. It would be acceptable really. Old salts of construction can note one of these events as common practice but three on one job??? please.

I have said before that when the going gets rough, you just show up and swing yer hammer. It is not that easy in the moment. You really don't see the point of siding only a part of the house. Why trim out only a couple corners and leave the others? I can clear the clean fill out of the back yard but the scrap lumber and refuse still remains.

why why why? Because if you don't, you will, to borrow a cycling phrase, "crack". You"ll crack friends. It is that moment when your body/psyche just...stops. One moment you are working very very hard, you're struggling but holding your own, then POW. It is done. Yer shot. You feel like shit and there is nothing you can do about it. You may bouce back but the edge has been lost and you can not return to prior form.

Maybe "bonk" comes to mind too, i.e., running a marathon and not hydrating/eating enough. Slam a few Gu's and a gatorade or two but...it is a rough go from there on out folks.

So I thank you. And I thank my support who are all around me and don't really know it. Sure, it's just a smile with coffee but shit sometimes that is the bright spot in the day.

So. So, let's not take an easy and acceptable route on this one. Let's keep showing up and swinging the hammer.

How rude...wait...how nice?

2009-03-26T19:45:00.003-05:00

Greetings,
my bank teller friend said the other day, "Must be nice to be you." Well, thank you very much Lauren. It is just swell. Thanks for noticing.
At the time, I was a little miffed. She may not have noticed the broken finger, the cracked and bleeding hands, and the general fact that my pittance account is completely supported by a construction loan that implodes in five months.
Silly woman. In retrospect, though, I think her comment, casual as it may have been delivered, is fairly well placed. My life is pretty good. I love what I do. It is too intense currently but I could manage that better. I am spending time with people I have everything and nothing in common with: a simple wish left over when leaving my white collar job. And I am running my own dog and pony show.
Good stuff. I eat like anything I want because I burn many caloric units swinging a hammer and posing for pictures/signing autographs. You know. I have great friends. And my girlfriend's dog doesn't bite me.
I can spel pretty good and my ex wife doesn't hate me though she could. My truck starts and does the hard work eventhough it is slowly transforming into a piece of poo. And my emotional baggage fits into the overhead compartment with out an extra over-weight charge.
Nice, really.
So, thank you Lauren. Really. I hope I can keep a perspective on things such as this. 'cause Lauren just said something. I made it mean something bothersome. And now, I made it mean something pleasant.
Neither is right or wrong. But the latter works much better for me.
Pass another plate of pancakes this way please.

Sweating the small things

2009-03-19T19:07:00.005-05:00

"Dean Meyer, you, you are an IronMan", an announcement that touched me deeply and I proudly reflect upon often. Most people do not get the imact of the event. Even after seeing bowel releases, heat strokes, and pain/suffering on tv, watching a twelve hour ordeal condensed into an hour ABC World Wide of Sports show (Hawaii). It makes eating the potato chips on the couch kinda hard. Kinda.

So when I am asked about it, I relate the effort/distances to what may be easier to grasp. Swim - 2.5 miles (Hey, it took an hour and a half), Bike - 112 miles (Basically, it is from here (StL) to Kingdom City), Run - 26.2 miles (People do get this one. Many have done one!). The follow up question is answered by a mantra that worked well for me: you deal with the impossible by eating the whale one bite at a time.

And it is so for this project at times. This week brings a lull in subcontractor activity but a continuation of all other tasks. I took on clearing out the root cellar and prepping it for a concrete floor. (I hope to turn it into a passive-storage, wine cellar) This 'clearing out' means basically, me and a shovel under the house. Over the course of a two days, I moved one measly shovel full of wet clay one at a time, up and out the cellar opening, onto the sidewalk. This amounted to...a shade under five tons. Then five more tons in scooping it up and wheeling it into the back yard.

Once the clay was removed, I shoveled in 1.5tons of compactable rock (today). Tomorrow brings the cement truck with 4.5tons that needs to be pushed, shoveled, and proded across the rock.

In four days, I will have moved 16tons of materials. I kinda knew it was alot of work; heavy stooped work with basically a shovel and wheel barrow. I knew it was going to be sucky work.

So, I used the one bite at a time approach and here I sit today: very freaking tired but on the cusp of a wine cellar for my project.

Dear friend: do you want to accomplish an 'impossible' task? Try it one mouthful at a time.

The start of real inquiries

2009-03-08T20:06:00.002-05:00

I am pleasantly amused by the feedback people provide when walking through the house, especially the comment at the top of the stairs:
"Wow, it is big up here.", "Hmmm...this should have been the master bedroom.", "I'd make this a game room. My pooltable would fit nicely up here."
A year ago, after running through five, seven, ten layouts with my architect, I was concerned I would be able to create any usable space upstairs. With this in mind, I have always thought the master suite downstairs would be the gem of the project: an expansive bedroom, a large walk-in closet, and a generous, high-end bathroom. Add in a gas fireplace and ten foot ceilings...nice.
However, once the structural framing was complete, you could see that the upstairs was suprisingly roomy. I changed the planned layout to allow for a loft-style space, still in keeping with Soulard houses that utilize all of the livable space available. I added another window and removed partition walls allowing one to see out three different directions and receive natural lighting. And this is beginning to pay dividends. People are projecting their home ideas into my house space. It seems to provide enough structure for my plans but also allow others to imagine it as they would wish.
Today, I walked a recent caller through the house. He is a small business owner and enamored by all that Soulard has to offer - much as I have been through the past year. He, however, can afford to purchase and live down here. Lifestyle changes have inspired him to paint again and from his iPhone pics, he has a nice touch with portraits. He would like to have a house in Soulard but also wishes to have a studio space. The likely warehouse spaces are proving to be a half a million dollars or more and would still require some build-out to create a home within their walls.
Enter in 1837 So. 10th. A great home downstairs and what appears to be a great studio space upstairs.
We will see. There is much that would have to happen to pre-sale this house. First off, my new contact needs to be pre-approved for a loan. Next, I will need to atleast put in the last two windows.
Rock on. Peas out.

The old-tyme feeling in the back of yer craw

2009-02-16T18:55:00.002-06:00

How do you tell if someone's jerking your chain or really having a tough go and needs a (nother) small break from their commitments? Is it when they have established a behaviour pattern that seems all too familiar. Or is it when your nuts are so bruised they are not blue. They're blue blue. Like the Chicago Bears helmet color.
Well peeps, on the heels of my framer buddy I wouldn't have guessed I would run into another el crapo contractor again on this project. Yet here we are again, though this time on the cusp of horror versus at the tail-end. The roofer is an arse. He speaks with forked tongue. "Yes I will." Then later a hedging of words to slip in "I'll try my hardest" or "pretty sure" or any of the other ilk. poop I say.
The workmanship on my project roof is pretty much crap. As a general construction man - a non roofer specialist - I can't exactly define the crap, but it's crap. Crappy crap. "If you can see the roof decking, you might be (a redneck) screwed." And the roofer? Well, he takes offense at the verbage! "Negligent is completely wrong. This piece moved before setting in place. I am offended you said that." Well hell, I am sorry pally. Could the fact that the roof material is floating on an inch of tar have something to do with it's slippage?
So, is it a case of poor workers (they were fired) or a crappy contractor who won't pay for craftsman who take pride in their work? It's a trick question. You don't care. You can't. The roof is either correct or not. So, I call in an objective third party - a roofing inspection (only) firm. They testify in court when needed. They're the Marissa Thome expert witnesses though not neeeaaaaaaaarrrrllly as saucy.
It will always be a judgement call on when you're getting flak or getting excuses that require some element of patience. But troubles lived have a way of tuning in that sense. If only people lived at their word.

From trench to branch manager's office

2009-02-07T22:48:00.002-06:00

All in a day's work. It was Friday. That means payday and that means cash, real green in the hand of those who have spent effort at your expense. So, you go to the bank and - nope - no cash. No cash and $7,000 odd dollars overdraft. Hmmmm, not so good. Fees out the ass. Very unhappy labor. And another sickness in the belly to deal with adversity: forced to confront someone in the wrong.
Could be me. Could be. Wasn't though. Was Patrick. Nice kid. Friendly and smiley and the pictures on his desk were of Breckenridge and Cancun. He was agreeable. He was helpful. He promised much more than he could deliver on and it is now Friday and there is no cash and heaven help us, $7,000 dollars bleeding me dry. In steps Carlos, mgr. with soft eyes and depth to his words. Authentic. A first in many, many days here.
I had to rat out Patrick. It was the pivot point where I got access to my cash and he got, well, he was held accountable for his words.
Just hours before I was hip-deep, swinging a pick-axe in a trench. Messy work. Muddy except that the ground was still frozen from two inches through eight inches. The union electrican who asked for help was cool. I heard when I left the job site he sat in a chair and ate a bananna in the sun.
And how are these damned stories related? They ain't to you Reader. They all occured on the same damned day for me. A normal day. Boss man. Picking in the trench, getting sloppy muddy, then petitioning branch manager at bank for $500. Oof. Why did I quit that fancy management, white collar job years ago?
Is happy a continual, transitional moment?

The tape measure lies, the level hates me.

2009-01-29T21:48:00.001-06:00

Any builder, man/woman with a sawzall, tells you they always build square, plumb, and level - call their B.S. Or, just know that is a course doomed to failure.How you say? Well, read on you reader. Let's take an...oh, say 1850's era structure, factor in some idiot and his poor friends in the '80's, and some concrete. (Oh Lord, please make people use mortar and NOT concrete to lay brick) This place, yes it's 1837 So. 10th, is not square, plumb, or level. It couldn't be no matter how hard you tried and gosh darned if the framing contractor tried...for two whole days of 58. You work with what the structure allows you to do. You shim, you taper-cut, you allow for bends and curves and off-camber corners. You embrace what you are given.It's like people, maybe. Force on them your way of being, thinking, and acting and you'll get anarchy. Or you'll make CEO of a bank and receive $10billion from the government without recompense but that is another matter entirely.With your head down, nailing another 2x4, it would be easy to think your shinangans may yield a screwy wall but heck if the little adjustments from plumb, level, and square don't create a perfectly fitting structure. One with character. One with soul that works with it's environment. Yes, it meets code and is safe to call 'home' but it transcends home, house, abode. It harkens the past when lumber was hewn from trees with an adze, the nails square, and a man's eye was 'level, plumb and square.'If you know St. Louis, you may have seen the development called "New Town" out past St. Charles a bit. It's nice. The layout is centralized and harkens to the new movement towards town squares, local stores within walking distance, and architect designed 'spaces.' It's cool. I like it. It is very, very...perfect. The brick used to create the Soulard-like facades is probably exactly 3.25"x9.375". Each one. I bet the front dormers are not 3-3/4" off center though. Why would you do that? You wouldn't.But my house was built that way.Square, level, plumb - nope. Warm, charming, and a home - you bet.

"Nail it...with a nail"

2009-01-25T22:18:00.003-06:00

"All this advice here...it's free!" - the sage words of Ed, my framing, heck, my project savior.

Ah, much has transpired my friends since I last posted. The exterior framing, well hell it's done son. I have a shingled roof too! This is no small accomplishment. The weather over the last four weeks has been barely tolerable for outside, exposed work at times. And the nailing continued unabated. My 8:30am hot coffee was frozen solid by 10am. I kicked a 2x4 so hard, I lost a toe nail but couldn't feel it - numb at the time. My hands, my fingers split on the tips and sides from the cold and dry air. One framing expert, a learned carpenter, and a tuck point mason re-built a 2,000 sq.ft. home in three weeks...and no one lost an eye.
The past week brought a delightful warming trend and I was able to re-lay many of the window openings (interior) which were in dreadfully poor condition. How this building remained standing to this point, I don't know. When it warms again, I will replace the header lentils and then I can place the house load back onto the front wall and remove the temp supports. Things can then really take their final shape with interior partition walls roughed in.
In the mean time, the plumbers are roughing in the waste/vent and supply lines. They hadn't showed up a few days ago, contrary to plan, so I called. They, admittedly, got drunk the night before and were hanging so they weren't going to make it that day. oof. Along these lines, the roofer continues to want to get paid though the job is not complete - the glue-down, flat material is curled up in this cold weather and will only set flat when warm. Well, it's winter, it's cold, and that ain't done. We have reached a compromise but I must say I continue to find disappointment in the contractor ranks.
With a roof and house wrap on the to-be sided exterior walls, neighbors and dog park people alike ask me when the house will be complete. A miricle would be April and May is within the means though very much a mediocre bet.
I'll leave you with one last quote from Ed. "The house is telling us how it wants to go back together", this was said as the first floor joist system was floated and shimed into place. The previous framing contractor had forced a different plan and nothing was working out. Now, when we took efforts to rebuilt - not new build - the house, everything aligned. The masonry pockets for the joists, the door openings, the dry-laid stone foundation - they all fit perfectly.
My heartfelt thanks to Ed and Devin, though paid for their work, I could never have completed this project without their hard work and tolerance of poor weather and miserable conditions.

Growing a Pair

2008-12-12T18:11:00.005-06:00

This week brought major changes to the project and to my leadership approach. I have hired a new framing lead, Ed. With two full days complete, we have completed the floor system and raised two exterior walls - photo show to the right==>>
I have fired my prior framing contractor, though he is not aware of the fact yet. If he will call me back, I can close this loop hole. 55 days have expired since Bob Moore was contracted to frame (labor only) my house. He has been on-site two days, for a total of 12 hours. Our contract was for a 30 day build timeline. 29 days have expired since lumber had been delivered to the job site per his request. I consider this a fundamental breach of our contract. With an inconsistent line of communication and complete lack of follow through on his promises, I do not feel this is a workable situation.
Bob Moore and his crew did put in around 20 man-hours of work - my liberal estimation. Though, the work performed was deficient and in some cases negligent. The man is a framing contractor and he was using a four foot level to create a level floor system (30' x 30'). There was a hump in the joists he had installed measuring 1" rise/fall.
This brings me to the heart of the changes this week. I was told I needed to "grow a pair" - to clarify: a pair of balls. My relaxed and reasonable nature is not producing results, in fact it is creating an environment for being taken advantage of. Bob Moore has been advanced $7000. Yes, yes, yes - I know. He can not be trusted or depended upon for any work as evidenced by his own inaction and poor quality work. So fire him. That's easy. But what about the money advanced to him?
More on this later...

The frame work of money

2008-12-09T16:47:00.004-06:00

I am continuing to learn even as the wheels of progress, because the wheels of progress, have come to a painful halt. It seems that my framing contractor, though well intentioned, does not have a record of actions that line up with his verbal intentions. He has performed in my estimation a day and a half's worth of labor over the past...three weeks.
The weather has been good, very good for days at a time, and yes some poor weather too.
But but but. Butt.
So this is what I have learned. I have learned to start thinking about minimizing my losses and how to properly account for them. For instance, I have advanced my framing contractor money per contractual agreement as well as some extra per his hardship-based request. If I choose to not have him frame the house, I may well end up counting that cash gone.
On the other hand, if I continue to be a party to his evidence-based, lethargic schedule I may end up not having this house on the market at the start of the sales-season (April-May). I will also acrue more interest payments on the construction loan. And, in an attempt to make the sales-season start may generate higher labor costs, adding people as required to complete quicker or contracting out work which I had intended to perform myself.
So, which is the greater loss? I may be able to work out a plan with the framer to work off his credits by assisting me with framing that runs on my schedule and/or have him contribute to the labor required to meet the build schedule on drywall hanging, trim installation, door/window installation, etc.
I dislike confrontation, not completely, but certainly try to avoid it in the least. It would be easy(ier) to let the days pass and deal with the issue, if one still persists, after the Holidays. But but but. This is not a personal, nice, neatly wrapped project that can afford time slippage. It is a business operation that has risk/reward consequences that can break me financially.
So, Dear Framing friend: let's renegotiate.

Framing or not?

2008-11-21T11:34:00.004-06:00

So, as intended, I am giving my framer the room to progress as he wishes but also keeping an oversight by visiting every couple days and asking, at times, questions to keep the dialouge open between us. But even though it is quite cold here, I have to admit I am disappointed with the lack of progress in the past week as the photos can atest.
Hey, it's the edge of winter and cold but, hey, as a framer you work outside and if you want to eat in the winter, you should probably work. No?
In a typical build situation, e.g., a new house, the framing crew works so fast you worry about things like:
1) is my insurance policy good enough to cover the likely situation where one of these crazy bastards shoots a nail into his hand, backs off the roof, and lands on the plumbing stack in the yard. IKNOW! Will my policy replace the plumbing stack, right?
2) are they going to transpose/misinterpret/ignore the drawing requirements and put a wall like, I don't know, in the middle of the dining room then be looooong gone to repair their work. We call that the "tail light" warrantee: if you can see the tail lights, the work is covered. Else, well, you're screwed.
But this project is not cut and dried. The walls are not plumb, hell, they aren't even straight over the full height. The foundation sill is up here, down here, slightly slanted there, etc. Did I mention the requirement for a 15degree cut on the joist ends so that in case of a fire, the walls are not pulled inward onto the occupants?
So, it will take more time. But all the more reason to start making consistent progress. Bob the Framer (no really. I am not pulling a Palin here with a label) will be done in four weeks. His word. Though people and their word, their honor, are shakey at best. A moving target.
So, please Bob, hear my plea: put a damned nail in some wood and give me a roof soon.

The "Con" in Construction

2008-11-09T16:47:00.006-06:00

...stands for many things. Concrete is a good one, as in, "Look at how those guys are putting in the new concrete slabs at 1837 So. 10th." Conman is another, though not so pleasant, as in, "Who the hell took the $2000 generator from the back of my truck?!"

I suppose the stolen generator is more interesting so, yes, two weeks ago the generator was taken from the back of my truck while I worked fifteen feet away. Me, a six-four, two hundred pound guy, was swinging an axe, chopping on a stubborn stump and two guys take the 200+lb. generator from the back of the truck @ 5 in the afternoon. My street is a deadend street - alley access though. It's daylight, the owner's swinging an axe 15 feet away, and there is no simple egress from the area.

"Brazen" comes to mind: "Stupid" does too. I submitted the typical police report, even had serial number. I thought the generator long gone. But, a week later, Officer Hill phones to say they were on patrol and saw some dude walking in the street with a generator; it did not pass the 'look right' test. Generator found.

This a good thing as I am renting the unit from friends and I don't have $2k to spend that is not already committed to, oh..putting a roof on the shell I own.

Speaking of which, framing starts in a week. Should have a roof, with shingles my my!, by Christmas.

Ddda da ddaaa dad daamn

2008-09-06T20:18:00.003-05:00

You ever get behind the business end of a jack hammer? You should; it is an invigorating experience. Your teeth shake all the way down to the roots. You can actually feel them vibrating.
And you get the knack for how to maneauver the darned thing without breaking your back while breaking the concrete. But then. But then you encounter what appears to be just another ordinary 4" thick, non-reinforced slab. And the suddenly your pelvis and your hair folicles tremble in pain. Something lurks much thicker under that there concrete surface.
Time to call in the experts and shell out some cash. The going rate is somewhere between $1.50 and $2.50 per sq. ft. to break and haul off. Not too bad. But an unexpected expense non the less.
Oh, but the urge to leave destruction and get to construction is strong. Plus, Wayne's Excavating seems so perfect for the job.
One other note: my friendly lending institution called recently. They were concerned. Apparently my resistance to draw on the loan, coupled with their lack of understanding of demolition had them worried. About what, I am not sure. I see it like this:
They stretched the loan processing out for four months over risk concerns...okay, fine. I get it.
Not, though, they are concerned I haven't drawn on the loan.
These people kill me. "I am not sure I want to lend you money...wait, why aren't you using the loan yet???!!"
You have to laugh or you'd cry.
L8, dean

Hi, it's me and it's on.

2008-08-09T21:35:00.003-05:00

Let me catch you up since May...got a loan approved, am lined up with a disbursement agent, and have mowed over like ten bricks hiding in the weeds.
And now it's on. Demolition has begun in earnest. A one-man show less a few hours from my brother Brad who exclaimed, "Gosh, it would be tough to do this everyday. I'm tired." He's 22 years old. Wait...am I about to give credit to myself for being...old? gulp.
The best way to communicate what's up this week is to have you watch a movie of demo progress. Enjoy.

Three months and counting

2008-05-25T23:15:00.003-05:00

It's been three months since I began loan processing with XXX bank. It is likely the institution I will be getting my loan from. Three months. Three.

Yes, rediculous I know but what options do I have at this point? Four banks have decided small residential development is too risky for them right now. And one bank was giddy with excitement though they wanted a pledge of assets that was far beyond anything 1) decent, & 2)possible.

So, I do the paperwork shuffle and I smile and I wait.

I worry some about my slipping construction schedule and the resulting post-summer market for the sale of my house. Most of my rational for the success of the project has been based on making the late-summer marketplace. That is not possible now.

What to do? I could wait, start next winter. It would possibly be a good thing to let the uncertainty of this year's economics run some direction: up/down.

I could cut my losses and put the property up for sale and hope for the best.

Or, I could forge ahead and be successful at this project regardless. Regardless of slow loan processing. Regardless of greater uncertainty in a late-season housing marketplace. Regardless of what could be considered better judgement at this point.

I have tried to mitigate as much risk as I can and I think at this point I have reached a time when things start to swing back the other way a bit. I also am a first time developer and maybe all of this so far is just what comes with the job.

We shall see.

Hugs,

dean

The smell of blankets

2008-05-09T09:06:00.004-05:00

Click-wop!...click-wop!...(repeat 120 times then read on Reader. You read this read.)
There are these moments for me of special clarity in my recollections of past events. Contrary to prejudice, they are not necessarily: amazing physical achievements defined by extraordinary passion and courage, visually stunning scenery from the rarefied air above tree line, visceral and primordial responses to physical harm/fear, etc. Nope, that's the stuff of movies and books on Oprah's list of must reads.
I am speaking of a seemingly random collection of colored snippets. Significant? Well sure but to the owner of them - me. Marketable? Naw, I can't kid myself that these ruminations from a white-bread, middle class, college educated man would be anything but readings for a #2 sitting on a Sunday porcelain moment: movement?!
So, click-wop! A sound here on paper but a visual echo in my memory. It's a sweaty palm on a rubber stamp device, the flesh of the hand pancakes a little and the hairs matted as the stamp stamps. Click-wop! This is one of those really cool stampers that rotates in on itself and can be adjusted on little rubber rollers to account for different dates. It even inks itself and makes strong solid contact with the paper like your heel squashing a roach - without the resounding crunch of the shell splitting open.
Tim, the master of click-wop!, is an odd duck. His business card says he's an accredited architect in the Permitting Division of the City of Saint Louis. His demeanor says he hates the world and wasn't loved by his parents. After many rounds of draft, review, and update, Tim has approved and stamped my drawings for this project. It's an oddly detached end to a passionate, personal matter for me. Tim, stone-faced and extremely bored; me, stoned-faced and extremely wanting to pee.
I won't remember the details of this exchange and maybe not the feelings wrapped up in the moment. But if I do remember something of this time, it will be: click-wop!

Seeking the Masculine Man

2008-05-01T10:10:00.007-05:00

I read a great book a few years ago and am destined to reread it very soon. It started a conversation with the reader about being a strong man and a Christian man: could they exist together and what would that look like?

In short, yes. A look into the bible and one can find many strong men, men with high moral fiber with very...manly, characteristics. Sinners? Heck yes, aren't we all...like even right now. And right now. etc.

My joy found in the book, though, was the discussion about what that man would look like. Here is a premise paraphrased, liberally:

Men need an adventure. This needs to be something necessarily without boundaries; it is risky and there is a dangerous element to it. Swim with sharks while wearing a pork chop bananna hammock? Okay, but risky and dangerous are relative. This can be anything outside of one's 'normal' way of living.

What does this have to do with this blog? My adventure, my risky move is this property. It was falling down. It has some guidelines for what can/can't be done but other than basic structural and historical codes, I could really screw this up and no one would stop me. I am a person who follows best known methods, does things in the manner the 'should be' done, etc. Well, here's something without much of that.

I have been leading up to this project for years. I quit a career years ago with a goal of building a house. I have patiently worked for pennies learning a new trade and been lucky not to have lopped off a few fingers with any number of power tools/saws. And here we are. On the cusp of doing what I set out to do years ago.

It is the culmination of much thought, dreaming, and hard work. It is also hanging it out there. Don't let my trivial, polite answer to "How's the project going?" fool you. This is the real deal for me.

Don't give him a beer

2008-04-21T08:14:00.003-05:00

...A beer, not some beer, not a few beers, A beer. That's the advice, along with, "Stay away from him". Seems the Joe i met this past week can, yes, plumb just fine but his tendency towards crazy ups when a beer is introduced into the equation.
Nice guy, just crazy. Really. Joe grew up in the Soulard. His mom bartended across the street for many years. The store front is now boarded up. He said my building was a confectionary in the late 60's and early 70's. The soon to be masterbath area was the cold storage room. Apparently wood flooring placed on top of the dirt was enough for the health inspectors at the time.
The family that ran the confectionary lived in the county but their daughter lived upstairs. She must have been all of five foot nothing given the current head clearances up there. My plans expand the upstairs with a dormer.
But Joe is not destined to sweat the copper for me. It's not that I don't eschew beer. It's a fine drink at times. It's the need for stability in an otherwise complicated construction project...and the liability.
Have a great week y'all, dean.

So close I can taste it: sawdust

2008-04-13T23:16:00.004-05:00

The meeting on site with the engineer, a follow up with my architect, and a candid schooling from a kind roof contractor have me on the cusp of building permit applications. Kinda nervous really. It is that close. It hit home when the engineer casually mentioned I should shoreup the brick walls before tearing out all the framing. Duh. I was gonna get around to that. Sometime. Later.

Great news on the money front. 1) loan processing this week. Terms, I hope, are digestable. 2) Found an electrician that will charge me around 60% of the three other quotations and has been a sparky long enough to know what he's doing. Lastly, 3) may have found a plumber that may save 50% off the quoted pricing so far. Will have to find a means to pull permit, though. May be tricky. These are all good things. A tour of open houses in the area today showed me that asking prices have fallen off some.

One last note for the week. Soulard will be changing their Neighborhood group name from Soulard Restoration Group to something more...updated. The area is not up and coming anymore. It is here. It is thriving...well, as well as any under the current government. (Hey...it is my blog) In mentioning their rationale, the SRG stated they are an active, thriving community. They even have their own bike race! I submit this pic to show you who grabbed 2nd in a different race this past weekend and who hopes to defend his 'home' turf in the Soulard race this late summer.

Rock on, Dean

An evening telephone convo

2008-04-06T19:53:00.008-05:00

A few nights ago while driving home, after being at school for 12 hours, Dean called. It was our somewhat typical stream of consciousness conversation while still being connected to . . . something . . . as always . . . you know, guy conversation. Anyway, I enjoyed the conversation, Mr. Meyer.

I found myself still thinking about the conversation tonight (which is several days later) because Dean began telling me about the Soulard. My interest was raised . . . What is this Soul-ful area? Can I find out something more on the Web? From the pictures posted on this site, it looks like an inner-city slum area; however, a quick Google search reveals much more.

Let's start with Welcome to Soulard: A Thumbnail Sketch:

Soulard, a City of St. Louis Historic District and on the National Register of Historic Places, is well known for its festive and sometimes boisterous Mardi Gras and Bastille Day celebrations. This near south side neighborhood also has a wonderful residential tradition.
Originally part of the common fields of the City of St. Louis, some of what is now Soulard was given to Antoine Soulard, surveyor general of Upper Louisiana, by the Spanish governor in the 1790's as payment for his services. Soulard's widow, Julia, stipulated in her will that two city blocks be given to the City of St. Louis for use as a public market. She died on May 9, 1845. Her bequest survives today in the form of the Soulard Market.

The site goes on to reveal some interesting real estate information:

As in the old days, Soulard today is a socially and economically diverse community. The century plus old homes have attracted people of all ages and from many different walks of life. Real estate prices range from $60,000 for a shell to over $450,000 for a completed home, as the neighborhood continues to build and improve. This web site offers insights into the neighborhood, its revival and its present residents.

I wonder if restorations covered in dog crap go for less.

I also found out why that structural engineer gets $125 per hour. It is because he has to know all of this: http://stlouis.missouri.org/soulard/code.html
And a bunch more here: http://stlouis.missouri.org/citygov/planning/heritage/standards/soulardstds.html

A highlights from the Soulard restoration standards:
Old mortar which is to be removed to provide adequate space for new mortar should be removed by hand, if possible, since power tools can easily chip and damage masonry.
Remember Dean, put your 24V power tools away. Hand tools work just fine. Don't worry about how long it takes.

Don't let your meat loaf. Ciao.

You want how much???

2008-04-05T10:32:00.002-05:00

I don't mean to offened any of you but who makes $125 an hour? Structural engineers do apparently. Well, that's what their company bills them out at, atleast the one recommended to me.

On the positive side, he will be able to generate beam calculations and framing requirements on site. So, maybe only two hours of time.??? He also is a historic-friendly engineer which is tough to find. One that will say, "Yes. Put that roof load right there on top of that brick header." I have some heartburn with just repeating the framing practices of the 1800's. That the structure has made it one hundred forty years doesn't assuage my fears. Having a certtified dude/dudette give me a thumbs up will go a long way.

$125 an hour. That is scandalous. I feel dirty paying for it. But I need it. Is that so wrong? Lots of people do it and they carry on like it's nothing. I may need to go to confession afterwards. Eventhough I am not catholic, I still may need to do it. Just to let God know I am sorry. He listens to those catholics alot. I guess it's cause they are always confessing things. Things he already knows and always knew anyway. Silly if you think about it.

And so is this post.

Shake it easy.

PB&J meets BSB

2008-03-31T22:02:00.000-05:00

It's not often you meet a, rumoured, billionaire. Let's just call her a multi-multi to keep it safe.

Not many multi-multi's drive a ten year old Chevy S-10 and cruise slowly through Soulard. Then again, Anne McDonald is not an ordinary multi-multi or ordinary cruiser. She has been developing properties in St. Louis for twenty odd years. She stopped today to see what I am up to @ 1837-39.

I was given notice from my mason that she would stop by. She stops by all development work in the Soulard. I found her to be warm and...motherly: firm but compassionate. Like an adoloescent, I stuck to my belief that digging up a perfectly good foundation, just to see what's there, is not a great idea. "If you can tell me what's in it for me, the developer, then I will take that on" is what I think I said. This was after she mentioned it a couple times. I still did not get a good reason.

We all have our areas of expertise, or atleast, areas where we have a fair amount of experience. I like to think Ms. McDonald has come across a fair number of foundation issues during her development activites in the Soulard. I like to exist, and have learned to be, in the context of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." In rehab work, especially, the more you dig into a situation, the more likely you are to find unpleasant things. So your wall studs are only 13" apart; life goes on. The wall still stands. Happy happy joy joy.

So, today was the day I persisted in my opinion when faced with a highly experienced, skilled, and successful developer...who also happens to be well off. "well off", yeah, and I'm the king of France. I hope we all can look back on this day and laugh rather than look back and say, "Shit, what an idiot he was."

Huaw huaw huaw.

The PWR of Dean Works in MANY Ways

2008-03-30T21:05:00.006-05:00

While you were sleeping (and even when you awoke without realizing), Dean was at work. He works in many ways, even in Canton, Michigan. It may be hard to believe but Dean spreads his words and deeds as moves across the land, leaving behind his PWR!

Stephanie and I want to thank Dean for his sump pump enclosure ideas. We've taken them and worked them through our hands, molding them into a physical representation that is both useful and symbolic.

DEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN!

That said, it seems that most PB eaters (voters), see Dean's manhood on the small side right now. I'm not sure why. Whatever the reason, we should take the time to remind ourselves of the shrinkage etymology. Enjoy!

With this spoon I shall move the world

2008-03-23T22:38:00.002-05:00

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. That is one dirty spoon. Where has it been? Just what the heck has it been used for? And why is it in this blog? Let me 'splain...

Clint Eastwood used a spoon much like this to dig his way out of Alcatraz. I, on the other hand, used it to fix a leaky roof. When one does not have the professional tools, one needs to improvise and in most cases work much much harder to achieve the expected results. This is a lesson I had taken for granted when I was using tools supplied by employer at a previous job. But now, when it is my money and my company, buying an expensive or just taking the time to find specialized tools is a tough pill to swallow.

You have to learn to think long term when purchasing tools especially when it is the only practicable way to get the job done quickly and properly. Sure you can rent some tools, and I do, but sometimes taking a monetary step backwards helps you move ...two more steps backwards.

So, it will soon come time to do some serious digging/trenching at the Soulard job. Who wants to drive the backhoe? Or should I spend a few weeks with a shovel?

A call to arms

2008-03-21T07:17:00.005-05:00

How do you know when your friend is a friend indeed? When he calls you out on your lazy, fat arse and prods you to get in the game. Thanks Kev.

So, I learned that 10" of snow on an 1800's era roof, framed using amazing magic techniques, layered with 18!!!!! Yes 18 layers of asphalt shingles on top of wood shakes makes a roof cave in highly likely. Not a big deal really. Saved me the trouble of chopping it out with the sawzall.

The impact to the psychie(sic), though, is weighty. What. Have. I. Bought? Is it more than I can handle? I am the type of guy who will ride the ship down into the waves before I realize, "Hey, you should get the hell off this thing" occurs to me. Too early, still, to tell though the water at my knees sure looks salty.

The brick masons have made great progress. The south parapet wall is solid and sound and retucking of two more progresses well. And when the police showed up at the behest of an angry dog park member, they stayed calm. This is good.

Money, or the lack there of, will be a post in the near future. Let me tempt you, oh imaginary reader, with this:

Most banks will process your loan request regardless and will put on a happy face. Regardless of the evidence screaming at them like the piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of your shoe (Kurt Vonnegut I am not). They will smile and say they will do their best. News flash, making less than twenty k in a year does not show evidence of an ability to make payments on an interest only, construction loan of one hundred and fifty k.

duh.

Maybe I should not have bought my Lynskey for five thousand dollars?

I must have ruined it.

2008-03-18T19:35:00.004-05:00

Probably no one else other than me has noticed that Mr. Meyer no longer posts here. I know why . . . because I said "poop" or "turd" in the last post. He's mad. He's just not telling anyone. It is one of those deals where someone is mad but they don't say it. They just want you to figure it out.

Do you think I'm right? He's mad, isn't he? Dang. I ruined the blog.

What if I take the poop picture down? I could put something else in it's place. Would that help?

Poop?

2008-02-27T15:13:00.003-06:00

I was just wondering if you are finding any other poop as you work through the restoration project? Are there other objects, like the tree, that resemble poop? It might look like this:
I ask because I wonder if the tree you had taken down might have really been a turd. And maybe you didn't know what it was because you didn't recognize it.

Feb. 22nd week

2008-02-25T16:46:00.004-06:00

Well, a snowy, icy week curtailed play time on the prop. though time with my architect Kenny yielded some great work on the layout. Also meeting with the city folks went...well.

Lots of talk and planning with no action leaves me feeling anxious and less than completely fulfilled at this point. Though, I believe the more talk, planning, and collaboration before the hammers swing, the better the project will run: financially, workmanship, and timeliness for sure.

The more I uncover behind the walls, in the ceiling, and under the floors the more I am amazed. First off, how is this thing standing now much less how did it make it to this point from the early 1800's?! No load bearing headers, cantilevered joists, gapping holes in the brick foundation. Arg. Then again, 'cut' nails (the square kind) used in the earlier framing portions, hand cut joists and studs (variation of 2x4 widths from 3" to 4"+)...the amount of labor required to create the original structure is amazing. I wonder what they would think of our use today of pneumatic framing nailers able to shoot a 16 penny nail each second?

Yes, a boring post but to hell with you. Rock on, dean.

Feb. 15th week

2008-02-15T11:32:00.003-06:00

The end of a week that saw a very large, very dead tree removed. I won't replay the whole story but let me indulge your fancy with these sketchy notes:

* 7.5 feet in diamter and 35-40 feet tall

* Jeff in the tree, tied off, with a running chain saw asking, "Are you sure this limb won't come back and knock me off?"

* 100 feet of rope, tied to the hitch, truck in 4x4 to jump the curb

* power lines, light posts, and a poorly timed vehicle approaching the 'fall zone'.

Okay, no one died. The truck did not sustain damage. I did not get hauled off to jail by City of Saint Louis police. So, not a great story.

The historical reviewer from the State is cool with the plans, one big hurdle. One big one left: the city's cultural resources office. I hear they just aren't the friendly types.

Shake it easy.

Your house rocks

2008-02-08T07:20:00.000-06:00

Your house rocks . . . looks like a pile of rocks . . . but sort of neatly stacked. I am looking forward to seeing more as this develops. Keep your digital camera close by as you work.

For others who are visiting, please check out another job Dean has consulted on over the past couple years at http://mensland.blogspot.com/

In particular you might want to search for "sump pump" to see Dean's design for the ultimate sump pump enclosure as it is being built.

Kevin

What's this all about?

2008-02-07T22:43:00.000-06:00

After years of saying I should, I am; here you can see what a few dollars and ten pounds lost to stress can buy you: four deteriorating brick walls (one leaning 14 inches at the top), a caved in roof, and many, many piles of dog excrement strewn liberally about the 'yard'. Can you believe the city condemmed the place?!

On the plus side, I saw a show on tv and I am sure, "I am going to flip this house in two days with a budget of eleven dollars and sixteen cents."

My thanks to Mike R. for helping me find this gem, Heather J. for making the deal, and Dr. M for silently backing a dream job!