Forgot to mention the music, which was "The Montagu Three Plus One" all day, over and over again. They were the house band at a Bahamian resort in the early 1960s. Sooo swanky, sooo fun.

So the fixit dudes finally showed today, even if 8am turned into some time five plus hours later. They did a decent job of ceiling repair, but we had to wash every single damn thin in the kitchen, thanks to the mess of broken sheet-rock and a mysterious fine powdery substance that formed some suspicious layer of insulation. Given the age of this ( Read more... )

So, these dudes were supposed to come by this a.m. to fix the ceiling in the kitchen, which they did (at 8:15), but said they'd be back in about 45 minutes when the truck got here ( Read more... )

(In Which Our Hero Delivers an Exegesis on the art of the Barber, Gets Lost in Queens, and Nearly Loses His Way more Metaphorically ( Read more... )

So, not much doing of late. Weekends are kind of dreadful without a 9 to 5. You have a strong desire not to work, but, of course there is no good reason you shouldn't be working ( Read more... )

(In which our hero embarks on this rather silly and, in all likelihood self-indulgent endeavor ( Read more... )