the pieces of my life

With the third heat wave of the summer happening in Boston, I picked a hell of a time to start back up my running. However, my life needed structure more than it needed comfort, so I’m back out there. It’s been almost two months since I was regularly running, but oddly, I fell back into it easily. No soreness. We live near the Minuteman Trail, which makes for a gorgeous run as it traverses fields, woodsy areas, historical places. It’s like the Burke-Gilman trail in Seattle, but with more foliage.

So, I’m watching MTV as I’m wont to do when there’s nothing on. And advertised is a contest to direct a new Korn video. Granted, I don’t like Korn. Granted, I have no desire to direct a video. Granted, this would have passed unnoticed as most things do these days if they are not related to the painting of the upstairs or the new kitchen faucet, but for some reason, the contest rules flashed–in a speed that could only be called subliminal–and I saw it and it stuck in brain. Right there in tiny f’ing letters in front of me that despite my advanced years loomed across the screen as if posted on a billboard: “Contest is open to legal residents of the U.S. who are between 18 and 34 years of age at time of entry.” 34. Upper limit is 34. Ten freakin’ months and I’m officially too old to watch MTV anymore. What will they do, block the signal to my house? Does Adam suffer as well (he can watch for another 4 1/2 years) or does he get the signal when I’m not near the TV? In 10 friggin’ months, I’m too old for Bust and Jane magazines (as they’ve both proclaimed in their magazines that they are for the 18 to 34 year olds; in fact, it was declared just in this last issue of Bust–right after telling me that my chances of getting pregnant in another 10 months drops by 50%). So what? I leave the magical 18 to 34 demographic group and that puts me where? In the 35 to dead range?

You know, I was there when it all began. Martha Quinn is not just the answer to some trivia question for me. I knew her before she was using Noxema. I wanted my MTV in the worst kind of way! My friend Liz, who looked 21 at age 13 and my parents couldn’t stand because her family was “laid back” (read: she could smoke whatever she wanted to and her sexuality was an easy fact around the house), had MTV, but no, we lived in the mountains where you couldn’t get cable. So I’d spend my time at her place glued to the set, loving it when they played Blondie’s “Rapture” (and where did I find the clip for this? On the baby-booming, Chicago-loving, Viagra-and-Rogaine addicted VH1 Web site). We finally got cable in Miami Beach later in high school, and I wasn’t supposed to watch any in the afternoon, but the second General Hospital was over (be still my beating heart, but was Jack Wagner to die for, or what?), I’d flip to MTV. That Peter Gabriel “Sledgehammer” video was so cool! And wow, did you see how they mixed in the animation in A-Ha’s “Take on Me” video? Anyone else remember when they announced they would stop using the astronaut in deference to the Challenger explosion? Anyone else remember when they played music? The first three years were all Rod Stewart, but I stuck with them.

And now, they don’t want me anymore. I guess I’m supposed to just quietly go to VH1, welcome Mariah Carey into my life, embrace Ensure, and let the kids have their fun. Well, screw you, MTV.

Do you know if you look up Martha Quinn on MTV.com, you get nada? How’s that for grateful? Okay, rant done. For the moment… I’ll go watch some Angry Kid to calm myself down. Or am I too old for that as well?

A first yesterday! A day without a trip to Home Depot or Lowe’s.

We’re headed into cranky territory. Adam is going to attempt to mud and tape the upstairs himself. He’s not real excited about it, but considering it’s a lot cheaper/faster than the alternatives, he’s going for it.

Meanwhile I’m ripping up about 500 checks from my old account. I bought a ton, because I was never going to leave that house. Sigh. But this house, this house I’ll be in for life. Definitely! Or at least probably. Or at least… whatever.

There’s something reassuring about unpacking books. It sort of declares, “This is home.” I want to leaf through each book as I unpack it. Funny how just a few words here or there can bring back memories, the mood I was in when I was reading each one, the phase of my life. I have a pile of Bukowski books from my East Village days that bring back my tiny studio apartment on 10th street with the loft bed and my psycho-cat Motorhead. The Sandra Cisneros from when I first moved to Seattle. The stack of books–Edward Abbey, John Steinbeck, Mona Simpson–that I used to write my master’s essay. The books I read while living on the kibbutz. The Primo Levi book Adam lent me to read when we first started dating. The trashy wedding-related novels I read while dreaming up my own wedding. I feel more comfortable with my books surrounding me.

I just told Adam I’m not sure I like the color (Rose Taupe) we chose for the library: too pink. The look he gave me told me that I’m going to learn to love pink

So, I’m giving credit where credit is due. I’ve registered my blog with BlogTree. It’s “the blog genealogy site” where you track whose blog inspired other blogs. My first personal blog experience was with Eugene’s blog. You can learn more about Eugene from his blog than you can in conversation with him, so I am a regular reader. But the one who pushed me into creating my own blog was Adam, because if he could have a blog, then so the hell could I. So those are the ones I listed as my parent blogs. I’m not sure if I’ve inspired any blogs, but we’ll see (Sandra, hurry up and start yours already!).

Boston observations:

1) Bugs. The bugs are everywhere. Including the crunchy kind.

2) No beer in grocery stores. Nada.

3) The kosher section in the grocery store is huge. Big signs proclaim the super market bakery is kosher.

4) The Asian food section is small.

5) The music radio stations are all the same. Different numbers on the dial; same music.

6) NPR plays BBC all day (so I’ve taken to listening to KPLU on my computer; the Seattle radio hosts are vastly superior)

7) My house here is messier than it was in Seattle.

8) The local grocery store doesn’t carry Hagen Daz sorbet.

9) The stupid sun won’t stop shining.

Tomorrow morning I finish stripping the wallpaper off the bedroom walls (and as my father says, “Thank goodness you’re not stripping it off the doors or else it would be doorpaper”). That’s a nasty messy job. But it’s mine, because we realize I’m much better at destruction than construction. So once I get all the goo off, Adam can take over from there and make the room pretty. The electrician comes tomorrow (yeah! fixing outlets! I have cords draped everywhere to get power to my beloved computer), the appliance repair guy (to fix the broken stove burner) and the gutter guy (for an estimate) come Friday, and the flooring guys come to give an estimate on Saturday (that’s the one we may put off doing). Our new sink and vanity for upstairs were ordered today (we were too good for the off-the-shelf variety, so we special ordered ours). I’ve decided I don’t like going to Lowe’s/Home Depot because they remind me of Fernley. I enter on and immediately my walk slows to half pace. So much yet to do. I keep wanting to go home and relax… and then I remember I am home.

Oy, is this place a mess. I finally got everything in the kitchen put away and today I’ve been working on my office. Adam, meanwhile, has been busy being Mr. Fixit, a job he seems to relish. In order to paint the upstairs bathroom (Barely Blue) he completely removed the sink and half the toilet. Who knew he was so handy? Tomorrow we go shopping for a new sink at our new home away from home: Lowe’s (the toilet was fine as is). After the last experience painting together (and given the miniscule size of the bathroom), Adam painted that one on his own. Next comes the library (Rose Taupe) and then we start to attack the wallpaper in the bedroom. We’ll be sleeping in the guest room until we get the upstairs done, so there’s major motivation to get moving on that and have it finished before our first house guests come in early September. For now, my main task has been getting the boxes cleared out. Considering this house is twice the size of the previous one, I’m not sure why this is such a difficult task, but it appears that our belongings have made like bunnies and multiplied throughout the haul to Arlington. The more I clean, the messier this place gets.

Tonight, our friend Rachel came by to check out the house and go out for dinner. After, we decided to rent a movie and buy some beers to take home. We went to Lexington (just two minutes away) to go to the liquor store (Arlington is dry so no beer in supermarkets; it’s only recently that you could buy it in restaurants). The three of us went in and as we went to check out, the guy insisted on seeing our i.d.s. Fine. Only they don’t accept out-of-state licenses. Massachusetts only. He looks us all over and says, “Look, I can’t take your id, but the guy is obviously old enough to buy, so if he wants to pay, I can sell it to him.” So Adam bought the beer. I went to grab the six pack to walk out and the guy says, “No, no, he’s got to carry it out.” Is there anyone out there who doesn’t know I’m five years older than Adam? Or scruff-boy, as he’s been known lately, as he’s in his rugged handyman phase and hasn’t shaved in quite a while.

Priorities now: Get a job. Get rid of the bedroom wallpaper. Get a full night’s sleep. Right now they all seem like daunting tasks.

We have achieved furnitureage.

If when you come over to visit the living room seems a little dark, it is. Adam and I have decided that instead of painting a second coat, we’d just keep the lights dim.

Things you’d think I would have learned by now:

1) If you get paint on your shoe and then walk across the floor, you will get paint on the floor.

2) Likewise, if you have paint on your hand and then touch, oh, say your hair, you will get paint in your hair.

3) If you’ve just painted the baseboard, it’s best not to lean on it when trying to paint the window above it.

4) Corollary: paint from the top down.

5) If you dance to A3 (and who doesn’t dance when A3 is on?) with a paint brush in your hand, paint will splatter everywhere.

Despite the fact that Adam had “issues” with the way I paint, we finished the living room, the only one we were feeling pressured to finish before the movers arrive. Adam has this weird way of painting, something he keeps calling “Slowly and Carefully.” He gets annoyed with my method, which I believe is equally effective, “Fast and Fast.” Apparently I don’t angle, I dab. I don’t brush, I squash.

The rest of the house will get done over time. The upstairs bathroom and the library should be done by early next week, but we’re going to sleep in the guest bedroom so we can get all the wallpaper out of the bedroom, which could take a good while. The kitchen and offices (downstairs and up) we’ll have done because the walls need a little work at the same time. And then there are all the other things we want to get done… patience has never been my virtue.

In the meantime, we’ve been sleeping on a sleeping bag on the floor. But we have phone and cable and our cable modem, so things are moving in the right direction. And now, it’s time to go to floor.