When your dad is an artist, you grow up surrounded by beautiful things without even knowing it. Growing up, it never occurred to me that not every home was adorned from room to room with multiple wall pieces, ceramic bowls, teapots and other artistic vessels.
Seriously, check out my dad’s work and tell me it wouldn’t be cool to have some of that in your house?
Well, I never fully appreciated it until now. I mean, it just wasn’t a big deal as a kid. Dad went out in his studio and did his thing. OK, cool. That’s what dad’s do, right? Well, of course, I later learned that was what MY dad did, but having an art studio double as your garage is also not commonplace, so I hear.
For the past month, I’ve lived in the dull-brown-carpeted and painfully-plain-white-walled world of my apartment. I have nice, comfy furniture, a decent-sized TV, a cool spinning media tower to hold my CDs and DVDs, but something was missing.
That something? Art.
(Funny side note: My middle name was almost Art. Before I was born, my dad wanted to name me Clayton Arthur. Could you imagine? Clay Art Hubert. That was one time when dad’s creativity was rightfully stifled. Thanks, Mom.)
I’m old and mature enough now that I can appreciative my dad’s craft more than ever before—ironically, now that I don’t get to see it.
I’m not sure that I can procure a wall piece for the apartment (though it would look great hanging over the couch) as I’m technically not supposed to put nails into the wall per my lease agreement. But I can’t take the sterileness much longer.
If I were Dorothy, I’d be ready not to be in Kansas any more. Give me some color. Give me some art. You know, like in the good ol’ days. The stuff dad used to make.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Parents and Siblings and Phones, Oh My!
My room is no more.
I was home last night for my sister’s birthday dinner. When I went up to see my former bedroom, I was not pleased. The emptiness is one thing, but now I saw a pink chair and giant stuffed teddy bear occupying the same space where I slept for more than 20 years. Not cool.
Apparently my sister is converting my old room into her spillover room, though I reminded her that I survived with just one room for 24 years. In my closet? Purses. On the walls? Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, feeling like a stranger in your own room.
Another thing missing from my room was my phone. I bought it a few years back, shortly before I began dating Jessie. That’s how everyone knew it was serious. Mr. Phonaphobia bought a phone for his room?! It’s true. I still dislike answering the phone or calling people for that matter, especially people I don’t know. But I digress.
The point is, after so many memorable conversations on that phone, it was gone from my room. Since I don’t have a landline for my apartment, it really doesn’t do me any good. So, where is it now?
Well, as it turns out, I now know that any lazy traits I display are clearly genetic. My dad put the phone in the family room. Seems reasonable enough. That’s where he and my mom spend a lot of their time together these days. Except they already have a phone in that room—five feet away! I don’t think it’s gotten to the point where my parents call each other on their dueling phones yet, but apparently making the stretch to hand the phone over to the other was just too much.
There’s actually a third phone in the open area family room/kitchen, establishing a telecommunications triangle of terror at the entrance of the Hubert household. So, if no one answers your nighttime call, you can pretty much guarantee no one is home. They don’t have to go far to pick up.
As for the birthday dinner, things went well. I’m not big on Italian food. Maybe it was the relief of not cooking after living on my own for a month, but last night’s lasagna hit the spot.
The get-together was a fun time all around. With me living the apt life and my brothers both at college, I’m sure the house seems awfully quiet and empty these days. It really is like a whole new chapter for the Hubert family, but I’m excited for it. It’s cool to see our new, (arguably) more mature interactions.
Of course, some things never change. Sarcasm and ripping on each other (because we love) remains a constant. And, of course, there was the brother scuffle. Mike and Jeff did the honors this time. It’s just what brothers do. And what drives moms and grandmas crazy.
So, happy birthday, Molly! Thanks for making me feel old. And to everyone else: Mom, Dad, Grandma, Mike, Jeff and Rocket, thanks for a fun night. It’s crazy to think that after living most of my life seeing my siblings every day, it’s now an event for us to be together at the same time. But if that helps me appreciate them a bit more, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing.
I was home last night for my sister’s birthday dinner. When I went up to see my former bedroom, I was not pleased. The emptiness is one thing, but now I saw a pink chair and giant stuffed teddy bear occupying the same space where I slept for more than 20 years. Not cool.
Apparently my sister is converting my old room into her spillover room, though I reminded her that I survived with just one room for 24 years. In my closet? Purses. On the walls? Nothing. It’s a strange feeling, feeling like a stranger in your own room.
Another thing missing from my room was my phone. I bought it a few years back, shortly before I began dating Jessie. That’s how everyone knew it was serious. Mr. Phonaphobia bought a phone for his room?! It’s true. I still dislike answering the phone or calling people for that matter, especially people I don’t know. But I digress.
The point is, after so many memorable conversations on that phone, it was gone from my room. Since I don’t have a landline for my apartment, it really doesn’t do me any good. So, where is it now?
Well, as it turns out, I now know that any lazy traits I display are clearly genetic. My dad put the phone in the family room. Seems reasonable enough. That’s where he and my mom spend a lot of their time together these days. Except they already have a phone in that room—five feet away! I don’t think it’s gotten to the point where my parents call each other on their dueling phones yet, but apparently making the stretch to hand the phone over to the other was just too much.
There’s actually a third phone in the open area family room/kitchen, establishing a telecommunications triangle of terror at the entrance of the Hubert household. So, if no one answers your nighttime call, you can pretty much guarantee no one is home. They don’t have to go far to pick up.
As for the birthday dinner, things went well. I’m not big on Italian food. Maybe it was the relief of not cooking after living on my own for a month, but last night’s lasagna hit the spot.
The get-together was a fun time all around. With me living the apt life and my brothers both at college, I’m sure the house seems awfully quiet and empty these days. It really is like a whole new chapter for the Hubert family, but I’m excited for it. It’s cool to see our new, (arguably) more mature interactions.
Of course, some things never change. Sarcasm and ripping on each other (because we love) remains a constant. And, of course, there was the brother scuffle. Mike and Jeff did the honors this time. It’s just what brothers do. And what drives moms and grandmas crazy.
So, happy birthday, Molly! Thanks for making me feel old. And to everyone else: Mom, Dad, Grandma, Mike, Jeff and Rocket, thanks for a fun night. It’s crazy to think that after living most of my life seeing my siblings every day, it’s now an event for us to be together at the same time. But if that helps me appreciate them a bit more, perhaps it’s not such a bad thing.
Friday, October 24, 2008
I have a tool box, and I know how to use it (sort of)
Watch out, world. First I’m cooking. And now I’m building. Now don’t worry. Bob’s job is not in jeopardy. (You know Bob the Builder. I think he’s Joe the Plumber’s cousin, right?) But seriously, I completed two building jobs in one day. I think I had previously done maybe two in my whole life.
First, I tackled the job of setting up a keyboard tray for my desk at work. I’ve been in serious discomfort at work lately, ergonomically speaking. The left knuckle of my left ring finger seems swollen and I have intermittent bouts of aches, soreness and fatigue in my fingers, hands, forearms, etc.
Clearly it’s not a healthy situation. I had similar issues during my time at Erie Insurance. Eventually they had someone do a workstation evaluation. They moved some things around, adjusted my chair and had a keyboard tray installed to lessen the stress on my arms. And it seemed to work. I don’t know if I was ever fully “healed” but it wasn’t much of a distraction anymore.
After a week off between jobs, I entered my new job not thinking about ergonomic things, and then was ignorant and lazy when signs arose that I was having the same issues all over again. I’m too many words into the story to say long story short, but the point is I needed to fix something, so I thought maybe a keyboard tray would do the trick again.
Back to the building. My “desk” at work is essentially a big table, so in order to set up this keyboard tray, I was going to have to drill into the underside of it. Fortunately for me, my boss had no problem with me doing that—even supplying the drill. Clearly he had more faith in my handiness than I did myself.
So, I spent Wednesday morning at work clearing of my desk (table), flipping it over and drilling the sliding mechanism for the tray into place. Success! I then flipped the tray over and put the rest of the tray together. It took a little longer than it probably should have, but it went smoothly and hopefully I’ll reap the benefits in the weeks and months to come. Is it working? It’s hard to tell. I’m still in some discomfort, but I’m typing through the pain, so maybe it’s a little more tolerable than it was pre-tray. Hopefully a mostly computer-free weekend will give my arms and hands a little time to recover.
The other building project was much more time intensive. After returning home from Wal-Mart where I got—among other things—my own set of tools (thanks Dad!), I commenced building my CD tower. At home, I had my rather extensive CD collection spread in all corners of my room, including in racks that had individual slots for discs. That meant whenever I got a new one, I had to go one-by-one moving them to keep my alphabetical order intact. With my new tower, I’m able to fit all my CDs in one square foot of space. So, for me, it’s a worthwhile investment.
Anyway, it took me about 20 minutes just to get the packages (yes, plural) open. This thing is pretty big—not to mention heavy. Once I did have it out of the packaging, it was a real challenge attaching the four sides together. But eventually I did it. By the time I had constructed the sides of the tower, it was approaching 11 o’clock. Some people are probably getting ready for/already in bed at this point. Of course, the next step was the one that required the use of a hammer to pound in the tack glides on the bottom of the tower.
Not thinking of the consequences, I grab my shiny, new metal hammer and pound the tack glides into the board pressed into the floor. Let me just say, IT WAS LOUD! THESE ANNOYING CAPS AND EXCLAMATION POINTS DON’T DO IT JUSTICE! NOT AT ALL!!!
I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure my apartment floor doubles as someone’s apartment ceiling below me. So, as I finished hammering the third tack glide, I’m pretty sure I felt and heard someone launching something/themselves into their ceiling/my floor, resulting in a resounding thump. Basically, an angry way of saying, “Stop hammering!” Well, I’m sure a few profanities would follow, and I’d be told to shove that hammer someplace extremely uncomfortable. But
You get the idea. I was supposed to stop hammering. Immediately
The thing was, I had just one tack glide left to hammer. And I’m the type of person that once I’m invested in doing something, I like to see it through no matter how long it takes. So, I spent the next 15 minutes debating what to do. Finally, I tried my best to compromise. I took the base board onto my bed, hoping that would dull the noise somewhat and I hammered it there as quickly and quietly (but honestly, what is quiet hammering?) as possible. Voila! Onto the next step.
I attached the swivel base, bottom and top of the tower and then went onto the shelves, which simply meant sliding in some pegs and setting the shelves on them. With that, the tower was built. It was about 11:30. I then spent another two hours or so taking all my CDs (and DVDs too) out of the boxes I had packed them in and placing them on the new tower. The good news is that it’s still standing. Consider me two for two on the day.
Just please don’t call me Matt the Builder.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The Car Inspection That Never Happened
I'm feeling pretty dumb today.
My car is due for an inspection by the end of my month, so my mom was nice enough to help me out. Yesterday she left work to meet me at Hyundai and drive me to work. Then she left early to pick me up at work and get the car back.
I dropped my car off around 7:15 a.m. It was dark out and I was only moderately awake. I put the keys in the large black box right outside the door that said KEY DROP. What I didn’t pay attention to was the fact that underneath the words KEY DROP was an arrow and the word ENVELOPES. I vaguely remember thinking, “I don’t have an envelope so that’s not for me.”
Of course, when I walked in at 4:45 to pay, the woman behind the counter asked my last name, fake-shuffled through some papers and said, “Yeah, I think they were looking for your keys earlier.” I stepped out the door, opened the box where I had left the keys and, sure enough, they were still there. “I never would have even thought to look there,” she said. The other guys behind the counter echoed her sentiment, giving me condescending looks that screamed IDIOT!
After having to reschedule for Thursday, I walked out and re-examined the KEY DROP sign. Sure enough, there is a slot on their garage door that says, “Key Drop Envelopes Here.” I didn’t see it in the dark that morning. And I guess the box I put the keys in is actually where they’re supposed to have key drop envelopes. Could the system be better? Yes. Should I have paid closer attention? You betcha.
The worst part about the story is that when I first left the keys, I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing, so I asked my mom if I put them in the right place. She instinctively said yes, later adding, “You’re 24, I didn’t think I had to watch wear you put the keys.”
What else can I say? Sometimes I’m just an idiot, but at least I’ll know where to drop the keys on Thursday.
My car is due for an inspection by the end of my month, so my mom was nice enough to help me out. Yesterday she left work to meet me at Hyundai and drive me to work. Then she left early to pick me up at work and get the car back.
I dropped my car off around 7:15 a.m. It was dark out and I was only moderately awake. I put the keys in the large black box right outside the door that said KEY DROP. What I didn’t pay attention to was the fact that underneath the words KEY DROP was an arrow and the word ENVELOPES. I vaguely remember thinking, “I don’t have an envelope so that’s not for me.”
Of course, when I walked in at 4:45 to pay, the woman behind the counter asked my last name, fake-shuffled through some papers and said, “Yeah, I think they were looking for your keys earlier.” I stepped out the door, opened the box where I had left the keys and, sure enough, they were still there. “I never would have even thought to look there,” she said. The other guys behind the counter echoed her sentiment, giving me condescending looks that screamed IDIOT!
After having to reschedule for Thursday, I walked out and re-examined the KEY DROP sign. Sure enough, there is a slot on their garage door that says, “Key Drop Envelopes Here.” I didn’t see it in the dark that morning. And I guess the box I put the keys in is actually where they’re supposed to have key drop envelopes. Could the system be better? Yes. Should I have paid closer attention? You betcha.
The worst part about the story is that when I first left the keys, I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing, so I asked my mom if I put them in the right place. She instinctively said yes, later adding, “You’re 24, I didn’t think I had to watch wear you put the keys.”
What else can I say? Sometimes I’m just an idiot, but at least I’ll know where to drop the keys on Thursday.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Things I Miss: My dog, Rocket
He entered my life unexpectedly. I came home from a high school basketball practice, and there he was: a little puppy. I was mad. Really mad. (I know, I can’t believe it looking back either.)
My family had never had a pet, and I was not a dog person. “Why should I start now?” I thought to myself. As a result, I don’t think there are any photos of me with the puppy version of Rocket.
However, as he grew and I matured, our relationship changed. Rocket—who I contend was named for the former wide receiver who played for a number of NFL teams, including my Raiders —is not your typical dog.
His personaility is one of a kind. A black lab and dalmation mix, Rocket loves my dad. We’re talking unhealthy-obsession/goes-into-depression-when-he’s-not-around love. Everyone else is a lesser priority. Still, he’s won over everyone in the family. With his 8th? birthday just around the corner, Rocket isn’t quite the rocket he once was, and his Tug of War growl and grip aren’t quite as ferocious, but he’s still the same goofy dog.
He has a cocaine-like addiction to used tissues. He likes to lay on couches and chairs so that his throat is hanging over the armrest like a guillotine. He tries to attack animals on TV and then gets confused when the channel changes. He hates vacuum cleaners and pet costumes. He loves snow and presents—opening the wrapping paper every birthday and Christmas whether the gift is his or not. And, of course, he’s a sucker for a good rubdown.
My apartment is no pets allowed so Rocket won’t get to see the new pad. That is probably good for the sake of my leather furniture. But I do miss the weird little guy, something I never would have imagined when we first got him.
Nowadays I actually moonlight as a dogsitter at a few different places. That never would’ve happened if not for Rocket’s entry into my life. And I never would have written one of my all-time best poems either.
“Things I Miss” is going to be a running series of short trips down memory lane. I lived at home—in the same house—for the first 24-plus years of my life. So, while I am enjoying the new apartment and independent living, there’s still a lot that I miss from home.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Hey ma, where’s the meatloaf?!
Is it possible for a non-cook to have a specialty? If so, mine is clearly this barbecue meatloaf recipe that Jessie included in her Christmas gift last year—a homemade cookbook titled “Recipes for the Working Man” that came complete with detailed instructions, personalized notes and photos of us in situations when certain meals might appeal.
Anyway, this meatloaf is amazing. Growing up, my mom always told me how much she disliked meatloaf, but she still made it regularly because she knew I liked it. But (sorry mom), this recipe trumps the meatloaf of my youth. And I’m proud to say I cooked it flawlessly last night.
Unfortunately, my first foray into apartment cooking did not go quite as smoothly. Let’s revisit Monday night, shall we? I avoided total disaster, but there were moments when I was thinking McDonald’s was in my future. Keep in mind that I have next-to-no cooking experience, so the fact that I was even attempting anything beyond sticking a pizza in the oven was a big deal for me.
I had just gotten home from work and decided to go with chicken. I had some frozen, pre-breaded chicken breasts from Giant Eagle. They did have a microwave option, but I wanted to challenge myself a little more than that. Plus, I just saw some report on the news the other day about microwaves insufficiently cooking chicken, and I was in no mood to deal with food poisoning on my first attempt.
So, I put some oil in the pan on the stove and turned it on medium as per the instructions. In the other pan, I had some peas. And in the microwave I had one of those 90-second instant rice pouches. Not quite a gourmet meal but a step up from the challenge of pizza, for sure.
I had everything under control until the smoke alarm in the kitchen went off. I couldn’t reach what I thought was the detector on the ceiling. Eventually I was able to jump and tear it down only to realize it wasn’t the device that was beeping.
As newly employed ESPN pitchman M.C. Hammer would say, “Whose beeper keeps beepin’ and beepin’?” Then, I located the culprit, also located high up on the wall. I tried ripping it out, but it was still beeping as it dangled from its wires. I then saw there was a button to press. Finally, I had the piercing alarm shut off, only to return to the sight and smell my now blackened chicken.
I was not hoping for extra crispy, but that’s what I got—on one side of it anyway. I turned off the burner yet failed to notice that the cooking oil was still very much cooking the chicken. I then stuck a fork in the chicken to try to get it out of the pan. By now my peas were boiling so I switched my attention there. When I went back to the fork (still in the chicken), it was burning hot. Metal conducts heat, maybe? I should probably know these sorts of things.
I quickly turned on some cold water and ran it over my finger to soothe the burning. After that pain subsided, I was able to dump some peas, rice and applesauce onto a plate along with barbecue sauce and the semi-burnt chicken. All in all, it was a decent meal.
I’m not batting a thousand, but I haven’t exactly struck out cooking either. Two days. One really good and one fair meal. Maybe I can handle this independence thing after all.
Anyway, this meatloaf is amazing. Growing up, my mom always told me how much she disliked meatloaf, but she still made it regularly because she knew I liked it. But (sorry mom), this recipe trumps the meatloaf of my youth. And I’m proud to say I cooked it flawlessly last night.
Unfortunately, my first foray into apartment cooking did not go quite as smoothly. Let’s revisit Monday night, shall we? I avoided total disaster, but there were moments when I was thinking McDonald’s was in my future. Keep in mind that I have next-to-no cooking experience, so the fact that I was even attempting anything beyond sticking a pizza in the oven was a big deal for me.
I had just gotten home from work and decided to go with chicken. I had some frozen, pre-breaded chicken breasts from Giant Eagle. They did have a microwave option, but I wanted to challenge myself a little more than that. Plus, I just saw some report on the news the other day about microwaves insufficiently cooking chicken, and I was in no mood to deal with food poisoning on my first attempt.
So, I put some oil in the pan on the stove and turned it on medium as per the instructions. In the other pan, I had some peas. And in the microwave I had one of those 90-second instant rice pouches. Not quite a gourmet meal but a step up from the challenge of pizza, for sure.
I had everything under control until the smoke alarm in the kitchen went off. I couldn’t reach what I thought was the detector on the ceiling. Eventually I was able to jump and tear it down only to realize it wasn’t the device that was beeping.
As newly employed ESPN pitchman M.C. Hammer would say, “Whose beeper keeps beepin’ and beepin’?” Then, I located the culprit, also located high up on the wall. I tried ripping it out, but it was still beeping as it dangled from its wires. I then saw there was a button to press. Finally, I had the piercing alarm shut off, only to return to the sight and smell my now blackened chicken.
I was not hoping for extra crispy, but that’s what I got—on one side of it anyway. I turned off the burner yet failed to notice that the cooking oil was still very much cooking the chicken. I then stuck a fork in the chicken to try to get it out of the pan. By now my peas were boiling so I switched my attention there. When I went back to the fork (still in the chicken), it was burning hot. Metal conducts heat, maybe? I should probably know these sorts of things.
I quickly turned on some cold water and ran it over my finger to soothe the burning. After that pain subsided, I was able to dump some peas, rice and applesauce onto a plate along with barbecue sauce and the semi-burnt chicken. All in all, it was a decent meal.
I’m not batting a thousand, but I haven’t exactly struck out cooking either. Two days. One really good and one fair meal. Maybe I can handle this independence thing after all.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I love lamp
Am I just saying that I love lamp because it piqued the fancy of my girlfriend Jessie? Am I just saying that I love lamp because she later put it together for me almost entirely on her own?
No, I'm saying it because t’s actually a pretty sweet lamp. Plus, I can't resist a good Anchorman reference.
Anyway, back to the lamp. It’s different. Has a sort of sheik, trendy appeal. It’s unlike any lamp I’ve ever had. But it’s cool. It gives the corner of the room some character—not to mention light. Plus, it has shelves where I can put a couple of photo frames and other “knickknacks” (or so I was told). Here it is all by it's lonesome.
With the new lamp and soon-to-be-arriving recliner, the living room is really coming together nicely.
Now I face the real challenge. After being treated to Applebees on Saturday and to a delicious homemade dinner from Jessie's mom last night, I face the prospect of trying to cook a real meal on my own. Details to follow, I’m sure.
No, I'm saying it because t’s actually a pretty sweet lamp. Plus, I can't resist a good Anchorman reference.
Anyway, back to the lamp. It’s different. Has a sort of sheik, trendy appeal. It’s unlike any lamp I’ve ever had. But it’s cool. It gives the corner of the room some character—not to mention light. Plus, it has shelves where I can put a couple of photo frames and other “knickknacks” (or so I was told). Here it is all by it's lonesome.
With the new lamp and soon-to-be-arriving recliner, the living room is really coming together nicely.
Now I face the real challenge. After being treated to Applebees on Saturday and to a delicious homemade dinner from Jessie's mom last night, I face the prospect of trying to cook a real meal on my own. Details to follow, I’m sure.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Not For Hire: Me as truck driver, furniture mover, handyman
The good news is I finally have some furniture: the aforementioned on-sale dark brown leather couch and loveseat.
The bad news is everything it took out of me to get there. Originally, I was worried about price. By the time the furniture finally reached their resting places in my living room, their financial burden was the least of my concerns.
The first test came in the form of driving the 14’ U-Haul truck from the U-Haul rental to Sofa Mart and from Sofa Mart to my apartment. It’s important to note that I drive a Hyundai Accent. Before that, I drove an old Honda Civic. Essentially, I went from posting up my little brother to being stared down by Shaq in his prime. So, yes, I was a bit intimidated by the sheer size and power of the thing.
Another aspect of driving that I overlooked until this experience: the value of the rearview mirror. Big trucks like this don’t have them because (obviously) there’s a big storage space where my vision would be. So there I was, dwarfed in the driver’s seat of this truck, trying to merge into rush hour traffic on I-79 in between a semi and what looked like a Matchbox car from my perch.
After conquering the driving issue, I thought the rest of the furniture move would run smoothly. Wrong.
Getting the furniture from Sofa Mart to my apartment building was no problem. Getting the furniture from the truck up to my apartment was like trying to get Al Davis to retain a head coach. (For a more lengthy Raiders rant, read my thoughts here.)
The only way up to my apartment is up a narrow staircase. I knew this going in. Yet I still bought the furniture with a that had essentially identical width to that of the staircase.
With the help of my brothers Mike and Jeff, the loveseat made it up relatively smoothly. The couch was a different story. We had it about halfway up when we realized it wasn’t budging. We had one brother on each end and a third underneath it as It hung in mid-air, floating above the stairs and wedged between the walls of the staircase.
We tried everything: pushing, pulling, lifting, twisting, rotating. At one point we actually made some progress only to realize the doorway at the top was imperfectly aligned with the stairs. And there was no wiggle room.
Now covered in sweat and getting some dirty looks of “What the hell are you guys doing?” from fellow tenants forced to take the other staircase—yes, it’s equally narrow—the three of us were running out of strength, patience and ideas. It was a valiant effort, but it was time to make the call.
Dad would know what to do! Only no one answered at home. And his cell went to voicemail as well. Crap.
I stood dejectedly at the top of the staircase after crawling underneath the still-stuck couch. My brothers stood below, equally pessimistic about our chances of getting this couch through the doorway.
Just when I thought all hope was lost I heard a familiar voice. “Hello! Is someone up there?” It was my mom. And my sister Molly. And most importantly given the situation, my dad. Like analogies? Dad is to handyman as Batman is to hero.
He observed the situation, formulated a plan and went to work. The gist of it was to slide the couch back down the stairs, which wasn’t easy. Then, unwrap the cardboard and plastic wrap. Then, remove the seat cushions and rotate the couch so that the flexible top cushions were on the same side as the door at the top of the stairs. With all that done, the re-ascension began and, it wasn’t easy, but it made it through!
In the aftermath of the move, I immediately felt some serious soreness in my upper back/lower neck. I woke today with soreness in places that I didn’t even know I had places. Of course, pain tolerance has never been my calling card.
I grew up dreaming of being a professional basketball player. But I’m pretty convinced by now that was born to do nothing more physical than what I do now: writing. To the world’s truck drivers, furniture movers and maintenance men—including the one who will be fixing the railing we accidentally dislodged amid our couch moving struggle—I salute you.
And to my family, thanks for all the help yesterday. From the brotherly bonding to dad’s never-failing Mr. Fix It ability and from mom’s purchases that now make cooking a viable option to Molly’s hello note on my fridge, thanks.
Now that the furniture (minus the recliner, which should be in next week) is finally in my place, it looks great. And as my family sat in it for the first time, I thought for just a second, for the first time, it really felt like home.
The bad news is everything it took out of me to get there. Originally, I was worried about price. By the time the furniture finally reached their resting places in my living room, their financial burden was the least of my concerns.
The first test came in the form of driving the 14’ U-Haul truck from the U-Haul rental to Sofa Mart and from Sofa Mart to my apartment. It’s important to note that I drive a Hyundai Accent. Before that, I drove an old Honda Civic. Essentially, I went from posting up my little brother to being stared down by Shaq in his prime. So, yes, I was a bit intimidated by the sheer size and power of the thing.
Another aspect of driving that I overlooked until this experience: the value of the rearview mirror. Big trucks like this don’t have them because (obviously) there’s a big storage space where my vision would be. So there I was, dwarfed in the driver’s seat of this truck, trying to merge into rush hour traffic on I-79 in between a semi and what looked like a Matchbox car from my perch.
After conquering the driving issue, I thought the rest of the furniture move would run smoothly. Wrong.
Getting the furniture from Sofa Mart to my apartment building was no problem. Getting the furniture from the truck up to my apartment was like trying to get Al Davis to retain a head coach. (For a more lengthy Raiders rant, read my thoughts here.)
The only way up to my apartment is up a narrow staircase. I knew this going in. Yet I still bought the furniture with a that had essentially identical width to that of the staircase.
With the help of my brothers Mike and Jeff, the loveseat made it up relatively smoothly. The couch was a different story. We had it about halfway up when we realized it wasn’t budging. We had one brother on each end and a third underneath it as It hung in mid-air, floating above the stairs and wedged between the walls of the staircase.
We tried everything: pushing, pulling, lifting, twisting, rotating. At one point we actually made some progress only to realize the doorway at the top was imperfectly aligned with the stairs. And there was no wiggle room.
Now covered in sweat and getting some dirty looks of “What the hell are you guys doing?” from fellow tenants forced to take the other staircase—yes, it’s equally narrow—the three of us were running out of strength, patience and ideas. It was a valiant effort, but it was time to make the call.
Dad would know what to do! Only no one answered at home. And his cell went to voicemail as well. Crap.
I stood dejectedly at the top of the staircase after crawling underneath the still-stuck couch. My brothers stood below, equally pessimistic about our chances of getting this couch through the doorway.
Just when I thought all hope was lost I heard a familiar voice. “Hello! Is someone up there?” It was my mom. And my sister Molly. And most importantly given the situation, my dad. Like analogies? Dad is to handyman as Batman is to hero.
He observed the situation, formulated a plan and went to work. The gist of it was to slide the couch back down the stairs, which wasn’t easy. Then, unwrap the cardboard and plastic wrap. Then, remove the seat cushions and rotate the couch so that the flexible top cushions were on the same side as the door at the top of the stairs. With all that done, the re-ascension began and, it wasn’t easy, but it made it through!
In the aftermath of the move, I immediately felt some serious soreness in my upper back/lower neck. I woke today with soreness in places that I didn’t even know I had places. Of course, pain tolerance has never been my calling card.
I grew up dreaming of being a professional basketball player. But I’m pretty convinced by now that was born to do nothing more physical than what I do now: writing. To the world’s truck drivers, furniture movers and maintenance men—including the one who will be fixing the railing we accidentally dislodged amid our couch moving struggle—I salute you.
And to my family, thanks for all the help yesterday. From the brotherly bonding to dad’s never-failing Mr. Fix It ability and from mom’s purchases that now make cooking a viable option to Molly’s hello note on my fridge, thanks.
Now that the furniture (minus the recliner, which should be in next week) is finally in my place, it looks great. And as my family sat in it for the first time, I thought for just a second, for the first time, it really felt like home.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
What’s for dinner?
I have no problem talking about my cooking experience. I don’t have any. Call it laziness. Being spoiled. Pampered. Whatever. I lived at home for 24 years and my parents did the cooking. Those are the facts.
Occasionally, if I were home by myself, I would boil some water and make macaroni and cheese, put a pizza in the oven or microwave some leftovers. And once, as a special Valentine’s Day favor, I cooked a dish of BBQ meatloaf and roasted red potatoes for my girlfriend (and it turned out surprisingly well). But that’s about it. I knew that I’d have to step up my meal-preparation game after moving into the apartment. I wanted to stay relatively healthy, so I wanted to be able to put together a basic meat-potatoes-vegetable meal.
And then, I moved in.
I had plates and silverware, cups and a working oven. I did not, however, have pots, pans or a microwave. What I did have was a pizza pan and a University of Michigan pizza cutter that plays Hail to the Victors.
In case my neighbors were confused, Michigan’s offense is still struggling to find the end zone. Instead, the fight song is being played in celebration of the cutter touching down on the crust for a third straight night.
Since pizza is my favorite food, I have mixed feelings about this development. It’s certainly not aiding my stay-healthy quest. It’s also not exactly an exercise in cooking. The whole “open oven, place pizza in oven” thing? I think I’ve got that down.
But I do love pizza. I mean, this is a childhood dream come true. I’m 99.9 percent sure I made a declaration—probably during one of the infamous dry meatball/carrot/potato dishes that I loathed as kid—that when I grew up, I’d have pizza for dinner every night of the week. Ha. Told you so!
Of course, now that I’m staring at my plate of fourth-night-in-a-row pizza, I’m starting to question my pre-teen self’s sanity. I love pizza and routine as much as anyone, but even I need some variety in my life.
The good news is, my mom is back in town. And, on her day off today, she volunteered to help me out with a few things, which I’m hoping will include a microwave and some cooking pans.
Pizza will always be a menu option at my place, but I’d prefer that the next time I hear Hail to the Victors I’m celebrating six points—not six toppings.
Occasionally, if I were home by myself, I would boil some water and make macaroni and cheese, put a pizza in the oven or microwave some leftovers. And once, as a special Valentine’s Day favor, I cooked a dish of BBQ meatloaf and roasted red potatoes for my girlfriend (and it turned out surprisingly well). But that’s about it. I knew that I’d have to step up my meal-preparation game after moving into the apartment. I wanted to stay relatively healthy, so I wanted to be able to put together a basic meat-potatoes-vegetable meal.
And then, I moved in.
I had plates and silverware, cups and a working oven. I did not, however, have pots, pans or a microwave. What I did have was a pizza pan and a University of Michigan pizza cutter that plays Hail to the Victors.
In case my neighbors were confused, Michigan’s offense is still struggling to find the end zone. Instead, the fight song is being played in celebration of the cutter touching down on the crust for a third straight night.
Since pizza is my favorite food, I have mixed feelings about this development. It’s certainly not aiding my stay-healthy quest. It’s also not exactly an exercise in cooking. The whole “open oven, place pizza in oven” thing? I think I’ve got that down.
But I do love pizza. I mean, this is a childhood dream come true. I’m 99.9 percent sure I made a declaration—probably during one of the infamous dry meatball/carrot/potato dishes that I loathed as kid—that when I grew up, I’d have pizza for dinner every night of the week. Ha. Told you so!
Of course, now that I’m staring at my plate of fourth-night-in-a-row pizza, I’m starting to question my pre-teen self’s sanity. I love pizza and routine as much as anyone, but even I need some variety in my life.
The good news is, my mom is back in town. And, on her day off today, she volunteered to help me out with a few things, which I’m hoping will include a microwave and some cooking pans.
Pizza will always be a menu option at my place, but I’d prefer that the next time I hear Hail to the Victors I’m celebrating six points—not six toppings.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
How I Became a Smurf – or – Lessons in Laundry
Over the weekend I called to tell my mom this story. When I told I looked like a Smurf, she kept asking, “a what?” I don’t think she got the reference. (Check it out here, mom.)
Why was I complaining of Smurf-like symptoms? Well, I’ve written a lot in this blog already about all the stuff I’ve had to buy. However, I’d be remiss not to mention the fact that my parents have chipped in with a few starter items, including a set of blue bath towels.
What I didn’t know is that you should put the towels through a laundry cycle BEFORE using them to dry off from a shower. First, I noticed that my hands and arms seemed a bit fuzzier—and bluer—than usual. Then, I saw that my chest and stomach that taken on a similar blue fur look. Perhaps Grover would have been a more accurate reference, but Smurf was the first thing that came to mind.
I then glanced in the mirror and saw what I had feared—a beard. Considering my inability to grow a conventional beard, I was a bit taken aback by this blue one. My whole body was covered in damp little pieces of blue fuzz—not a good look for me. Not a particularly comfortable one either.
That left me in a bit of a precarious situation. I couldn’t dry off with the towels because they left me as an involuntary member of Blue Man Group. But I didn’t have any other towels to use. Eventually, I settled on a makeshift towel—a white cutoff t-shirt. It wasn’t the most efficient system, but it got the job done. A few straggling strands remained on me, but it was not worth the fight.
I did my best to clean up the no-longer-sticking-to-me blue fuzz that had landed anywhere and everywhere after being T-shirt-toweled from my body. Unfortunately, the bathroom still has some of the annoying stuff hanging around. I don’t know, maybe it gives the room some character. Maybe it looks good. Vanity Smurf would know.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Life – parents = expensive
Lesson number one of apartment living: stuff ain’t cheap. I spent this past weekend buying all sorts of things from the necessities (food) to the luxuries (a second TV to put in my bedroom). As a result, my apartment is taking shape and starting to fill in. At he same time my wallet is losing shape and money is filing out. Funny how that works.
I made purchases at Giant Eagle, Best Buy, Target, Wal-Mart, Sofa Mart and Bed Bath & Beyond. That last one—B-cubed—was quite the adventure. Understand, my shopping generally consists of CDs, DVDs and the occasional spots jersey. I was totally entrenching on new territory, but I managed to escape with several solid purchases, including a shower curtain, loofah (so I like my soap sudsy, sue me!), pop-up hamper and ice cube trays. And thanks to a gift card and coupon the whole bill cost me roughly the same as a Darren McFadden jersey. I guess silver and black #20 will have to wait.
You also may have read Sofa Mart in there. Yep, I finally made the furniture decision. In the end, I went with the mix—the ultra-comfy black leather recliner (hereafter known as My Chair) and the on-sale brown leather couch and loveseat. The price was too good to pass up. Plus. I got approval from a Mercyhurst College interior design graduate that the colors worked together. So what if she was also the salesperson. I’m taking her word.
So the furniture is purchased. Now I just need to get it to my apartment. That should be accomplished by next Monday. I sure hope so. I’m getting tired of rolling my one and only chair back and forth from the main room to the bedroom (where my computer desk is) every day.
Grocery shopping was an experience, too. I went to my old stomping grounds, Giant Eagle, where I worked from May 2002–October 2006. It’s hard to believe it’s only been about two years since I was bagging groceries and chasing carts in that parking lot. The store hasn’t changed too much, but the people certainly have. I only saw one person I knew, and we had a nice catching-up chat.
I did my best to buy things I needed and avoid impulse buys. I was not entirely successful. I blame this on a couple of things. First of all, I can’t or, more accurately, haven’t really tried to cook. Secondly, I don’t have a lot of the necessary things to make cooking possible just yet, including pots and pans. I also don’t have a microwave yet. Sometimes I swear the list of stuff I need seems to grow exponentially.
But I’ve got my magnetic dry erase board on the fridge to keep on top of the list. That, plus magnetic poetry as a creative outlet to fend off any frustration that might set in.
I’ll get the hang of this single living thing yet. After 24+ years of home living, it’s just going to take some transition time. The new DVR doesn’t hurt either.
I made purchases at Giant Eagle, Best Buy, Target, Wal-Mart, Sofa Mart and Bed Bath & Beyond. That last one—B-cubed—was quite the adventure. Understand, my shopping generally consists of CDs, DVDs and the occasional spots jersey. I was totally entrenching on new territory, but I managed to escape with several solid purchases, including a shower curtain, loofah (so I like my soap sudsy, sue me!), pop-up hamper and ice cube trays. And thanks to a gift card and coupon the whole bill cost me roughly the same as a Darren McFadden jersey. I guess silver and black #20 will have to wait.
You also may have read Sofa Mart in there. Yep, I finally made the furniture decision. In the end, I went with the mix—the ultra-comfy black leather recliner (hereafter known as My Chair) and the on-sale brown leather couch and loveseat. The price was too good to pass up. Plus. I got approval from a Mercyhurst College interior design graduate that the colors worked together. So what if she was also the salesperson. I’m taking her word.
So the furniture is purchased. Now I just need to get it to my apartment. That should be accomplished by next Monday. I sure hope so. I’m getting tired of rolling my one and only chair back and forth from the main room to the bedroom (where my computer desk is) every day.
Grocery shopping was an experience, too. I went to my old stomping grounds, Giant Eagle, where I worked from May 2002–October 2006. It’s hard to believe it’s only been about two years since I was bagging groceries and chasing carts in that parking lot. The store hasn’t changed too much, but the people certainly have. I only saw one person I knew, and we had a nice catching-up chat.
I did my best to buy things I needed and avoid impulse buys. I was not entirely successful. I blame this on a couple of things. First of all, I can’t or, more accurately, haven’t really tried to cook. Secondly, I don’t have a lot of the necessary things to make cooking possible just yet, including pots and pans. I also don’t have a microwave yet. Sometimes I swear the list of stuff I need seems to grow exponentially.
But I’ve got my magnetic dry erase board on the fridge to keep on top of the list. That, plus magnetic poetry as a creative outlet to fend off any frustration that might set in.
I’ll get the hang of this single living thing yet. After 24+ years of home living, it’s just going to take some transition time. The new DVR doesn’t hurt either.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
To mix or match? Or, mix and match?
I went furniture shopping with my parents tonight. Unfortunately, 24-year-old me only gets their opinions and not their money when it comes to any purchases. Stupid maturity and independence, sometimes you’re a pain.
I only made one actual purchase yesterday—a cheap TV stand. But it’ll get the job done—you know, the job of sitting there and holding up the TV. Plus, it’ll be nice to have it because I’m getting my digital cable and DVR hooked up today! The only problem is that I currently have no furniture in the room to sit on while watching TV. That’s where my dilemma comes in.
I fell in love with this black leather recliner. So, so comfortable. Perfect for watching the Raiders’ game on a lazy Sunday. Expensive, but I have some money in the bank, and I will be spending a lot of time in this seat, so I’m OK with a bit of a splurge here.
The problem is I don’t just want a room with one chair in it. I need a couch, too. The matching black leather 3-person couch (with two reclining seats) is even more expensive.
But there is a different, equally comfortable leather couch (minus the reclining seats) on sale for about half the price of the black leather. Problem is the sale couch only comes in dark brown leather. If it came in black, I’d be all set with the expensive recliner and the for-sale couch, but it doesn’t.
However, the first set—including the recliner that I loved—does come in a dark brown that is basically the same color as the cheap couch. So I could get the comfy recliner in dark brown and pair it with the cheap couch. But I just can’t shake my mind from the black.
So, I’m torn, with at least four viable options to choose from:
1. Do I sacrifice matching colors and get the two individual items I like the most (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch) and mix black and brown leather?
2. Do I sacrifice my top color choice but keep the comfort and price of option one (expensive brown leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch)?
3. Do I sacrifice price instead and stay away from the brown couch on sale (expensive black leather recliner + expensive black leather couch)?
4. As an addendum to option 1, do I try to make up for the mixing of colors by getting an additional brown leather loveseat and try a brown-black-brown thing (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch + brown leather on-sale loveseat)?
The other thing to take into consideration. There are only six sets of the on-sale brown leather furniture left, and then they’re gone. The expensive black leather has to be ordered and will probably take a couple of weeks to be delivered.
In any case, I’d rather make a decision sooner rather than later to get the ball rolling and start putting the main room of my apartment together.
I’m going to be spending a hefty amount of money no matter how I slice it, so I suppose the real question I’m asking myself is “How will it look if I mix black and brown?”
I was under the impression that it’s a faux pas to pair black and brown, and that notion seems to be out there, but elsewhere I’m reading that black and brown can work together (so what if it's from Jamaica?) and that mixing colors of leather furniture can work. (And yes, I’m sold on going with the leather over other materials at this point. I’m a big fan of the look and feel of it. So, at least I have one thing figured out!)
That’s where I stand at this point. Fashion and furniture gurus, what do you think?
I only made one actual purchase yesterday—a cheap TV stand. But it’ll get the job done—you know, the job of sitting there and holding up the TV. Plus, it’ll be nice to have it because I’m getting my digital cable and DVR hooked up today! The only problem is that I currently have no furniture in the room to sit on while watching TV. That’s where my dilemma comes in.
I fell in love with this black leather recliner. So, so comfortable. Perfect for watching the Raiders’ game on a lazy Sunday. Expensive, but I have some money in the bank, and I will be spending a lot of time in this seat, so I’m OK with a bit of a splurge here.
The problem is I don’t just want a room with one chair in it. I need a couch, too. The matching black leather 3-person couch (with two reclining seats) is even more expensive.
But there is a different, equally comfortable leather couch (minus the reclining seats) on sale for about half the price of the black leather. Problem is the sale couch only comes in dark brown leather. If it came in black, I’d be all set with the expensive recliner and the for-sale couch, but it doesn’t.
However, the first set—including the recliner that I loved—does come in a dark brown that is basically the same color as the cheap couch. So I could get the comfy recliner in dark brown and pair it with the cheap couch. But I just can’t shake my mind from the black.
So, I’m torn, with at least four viable options to choose from:
1. Do I sacrifice matching colors and get the two individual items I like the most (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch) and mix black and brown leather?
2. Do I sacrifice my top color choice but keep the comfort and price of option one (expensive brown leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch)?
3. Do I sacrifice price instead and stay away from the brown couch on sale (expensive black leather recliner + expensive black leather couch)?
4. As an addendum to option 1, do I try to make up for the mixing of colors by getting an additional brown leather loveseat and try a brown-black-brown thing (expensive black leather recliner + brown leather on-sale couch + brown leather on-sale loveseat)?
The other thing to take into consideration. There are only six sets of the on-sale brown leather furniture left, and then they’re gone. The expensive black leather has to be ordered and will probably take a couple of weeks to be delivered.
In any case, I’d rather make a decision sooner rather than later to get the ball rolling and start putting the main room of my apartment together.
I’m going to be spending a hefty amount of money no matter how I slice it, so I suppose the real question I’m asking myself is “How will it look if I mix black and brown?”
I was under the impression that it’s a faux pas to pair black and brown, and that notion seems to be out there, but elsewhere I’m reading that black and brown can work together (so what if it's from Jamaica?) and that mixing colors of leather furniture can work. (And yes, I’m sold on going with the leather over other materials at this point. I’m a big fan of the look and feel of it. So, at least I have one thing figured out!)
That’s where I stand at this point. Fashion and furniture gurus, what do you think?
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