I've been traveling for work 16 of the past 21 days. And boy are my legs tired.
(crickets.)
Well, seriously, I think I DID manage to mess up my hip from carrying my messenger bag around Korea for 13 days. I weighed myself with and without the bag on the bathroom scale in the hotel in Korea and, after some quick metric conversions, came to the conclusion that my bag weighed somewhere around 25 pounds. And I wonder why I have bad posture...
I spent two weeks in Korea, came back home for 2 days, went down to NYC for 2 days, came back home for a day, then out to St. Paul, Minnesota for 2 days, and then back to Boston. Next week it's Boston M-W and then NYC Thursday and Friday. I'm prepared to fall into a coma next Friday night...
oh well, such are the trials and tribulations that go along with attempting to change the world.
I spent two weeks in Korea - had some difficult meetings, even more difficult conversations, spent 14 hours straight in front of a computer working on a presentation, and watched 5 movies on the airplane flight home. The highlight of the trip to Korea (other than crying on the plane in the dark while watching Swing Vote- why the hell does Kevin Costner playing a moron make me cry? That's fodder for a different post...) was definitely my mountain biking adventures in the suburbs of Seoul.
A woman I work with (who is on contract in Korea for 2 years) is a dedicated MTB'er. She and her husband have found a group of expats that go mountain biking nearly every Saturday in and around Korea. well, only IN Korea I suppose. There's not much AROUND Korea except for water and communists.
The couple lovingly refers to the saturday morning rides as "Dirt Church". I'd have to heartily agree. After a long week of stressful meetings amidst an overwhelming work load, it was good to get a chance to fly down some bitchin' singletrack.
Now mountain biking in Seoul is much different from mountain biking in the US. There are two primary differences:
1. Trails - the trails we used in Seoul were old trails that have probably existed for many hundreds of years. People used to travel them to get from one place to another. As people traveling are frequently in a pure "efficiency of motion" mindset, these trails do their best to connect two locations to one another - in the most efficient manner possible. In other words, the trails go straight up a mountain, and straight down the other side. The concept of "switchbacks" doesn't really play in Korea. This makes for the concept known throughout the Korea MTB scene as "hike a bike." Not even the gnarliest, baddest-ass MTB'er in Korea could possibly make it around these trails without having to walk his/her bike up a portion of a trail from time to time. Knowing that it's impossible to make it up the hill is somewhat of a disincentive to pushing one's self to complete a climb ON the bike, but it IS comforting to know that few people, if any, could actually do it. So, you push your bike up sections, hop back on when it levels off, and do it all over again until you reach the top. then you go down. quickly. It's completely awesome. Except for one thing- which leads me to difference #2.
2. People - The trails we were on were still in Seoul proper (I'm pretty sure). At any rate, one could reach the trails via subway if one were so inclined. A geographic feature and cultural custom that many people may not be aware of is the fact that there are many mountains/hills/ridges/etc. in Korea- and these mountains hold a special spiritual and cultural significance to the Korean culture. So, rather than build more apartments or buildings or whatever on top of mountains, the suburbs just expand over to the next valley. This leaves a whole lot of undeveloped hills/mountains in otherwise urban areas. Now with urban areas come the expectation of large quantities of people - and, as I learned, it is a national requirement that everyone in the greater Seoul metropolitan area must head toward said hills and mountains on Saturday mornings and go for a walk. 22 million people, and most of them were out for a walk that saturday morning. right in front of our group.
I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that we had stretches of trail that easily contained a density of people equivalent to a stretch of sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan at 8 in the morning on a Thursday. I was completely amused/terrified/electrified by the number of people who were out hiking/walking/etc. out on the trails. It made for slow going both up and downhill in places, but it was strangely exhilirating to be flying downhill on a bike, pass by a kindly-looking elderly couple, and spit out in broken Korean something close to an "excuse me". The hikers and walkers were kind enough, but some of them appeared to be completely baffled by the existence of these strange two-wheeled goats we were riding up and down the hills. Our fair skin and flashy dress no doubt communicated the fact that we were not 'typical' goat riders (if there is such a thing), so the befuddled trail-sharers at least had the good sense to step off the path as we whirred by- chains clanging, hearts pumping, poorly verbalized Korean apologies mumbled off our lips as we flashed by in a blur of pastiness, nylon, and lightweight metal alloys.
A good time was definitely had, and I can now proudly say that I have ridden a bicycle on two continents. I smell a world-travel sporting activity goal forming. next stop: Australia. or maybe Africa. Europe has sooo been done before.
11.15.2008
9.14.2008
A rebuttal on hundred-dollar pants
My post last week delved into the dichotomous world of "paying money for things that should last" vs. "buying lots of things so it doesn't really matter when things break- there's always a backup". A good friend of mine called me out on this concept by saying, "well, what about poor people? Don't they need pants too?"
And we launched into what I afterwards considered to a be a relatively decent debate revolving around the facts, errors, and misconceptions of poverty, consumption, and personal choice. It was the first time in a long while that I had such a spirited conversation. And the concepts espoused within that conversation have been haunting me for the past few days.
What ABOUT the poor? Few people in the world can have the luxury of being able to afford $100 for a pair of pants. What guarantees do we as wealthy consumers have that the pants will last? what really makes them worth $100? Did the people who manufactured them ACTUALLY get paid a fair wage for their labors? Am I just another asshole with too much disposable income?
And then I started thinking...I have purchased multiple pairs of jeans in the past year. It's not out of compulsion, but rather out of necessity - after leaving my last job (working with a general contractor), every pair of jeans I owned was completely thrashed from work - stains, tears, frayed edges, inexplicable patches of "goo" stuck in various places...not exactly my Sunday best. So I bought several new pairs. And those pairs, after washing for 6 months, began to fray and rip and tear and break down. So I bought replacements for THEM. All in all, I have probably spent $150 on pairs of jeans in the past year and a half. All so that I can have a rotating stock of 2-3 pairs at my fingertips. Now why do we do such ridiculous things as buy new pants when the old ones start to go bad? Simple - because it's cheaper, easier, and less time-consuming to do so.
A pair of $25 jeans at Target is very easily replaceable. Once they get frayed or torn or stained, just go buy a new pair. What's the alternative? Mend a pair of jeans? Yeah, maybe. At what cost? Pay a tailor to do it, and you're looking at a minimum of $20. and then you've got mended pants. not new ones. and you've only saved $5. The opportunity cost is negligible. You could mend the pants yourself...but that requires a skill set that has long-since fallen by the wayside of American know-how...all in the name of modernity and progress.
We buy new stuff when the old stuff wears out because we can. Because the cost to replace is cheaper than or equal to the cost to fix. That's an economic system built to collapse. Maybe not today or tomorrow...but it certainly is unsustainable.
Clearly we're not breaking new ground on the front of economic analysis here. This situation has been well-known by economists and Marketing firms for decades. but, strangely, though the consumer knows that it is an economic wash to replace, not repair, we blindly accept the fact that this is the way it should be. We buy cheap consumable goods because we know we can also replace them cheaply when they (inevitably) break or fall apart. Few companies exist these days that make equipment or goods built to be repaired, mended, or altered. The companies that do this have been hedged into the "luxury brand" tier, a misnomer that companies willingly perpetuate just to survive.
Think about all of the different things you have in your house - kitchen appliances, knives, blankets, clothing, towels, rugs, etc. Think about how many of those things you'd be willing to pay money to repair if they were to break, tear, or otherwise malfunction. It would be far too easy to simply buy a new one, throw the old one away (or foist it upon the good folks at the Salvation Army or Goodwill store and let them take their chances on fixing it) and be done with the situation.
A solution seems to be to care for your items as if they were priceless heirlooms. But a $40 steam iron does not an heirloom make. Neither does a Pier 1 braided 3'x5' rug. Few of the things we own today have any significance (sentimental, financial, or erstwhile) attached to them. And yet we continue to be consumed by our neverending, ravenous consumption habits.
We don't give a damn about a single thing we own, and yet we can't seem to live without any of it.
I don't know how we've managed to wedge ourselves into this paradox, but I'm all for suggestions on how the hell we get ourselves out of this mess.
And we launched into what I afterwards considered to a be a relatively decent debate revolving around the facts, errors, and misconceptions of poverty, consumption, and personal choice. It was the first time in a long while that I had such a spirited conversation. And the concepts espoused within that conversation have been haunting me for the past few days.
What ABOUT the poor? Few people in the world can have the luxury of being able to afford $100 for a pair of pants. What guarantees do we as wealthy consumers have that the pants will last? what really makes them worth $100? Did the people who manufactured them ACTUALLY get paid a fair wage for their labors? Am I just another asshole with too much disposable income?
And then I started thinking...I have purchased multiple pairs of jeans in the past year. It's not out of compulsion, but rather out of necessity - after leaving my last job (working with a general contractor), every pair of jeans I owned was completely thrashed from work - stains, tears, frayed edges, inexplicable patches of "goo" stuck in various places...not exactly my Sunday best. So I bought several new pairs. And those pairs, after washing for 6 months, began to fray and rip and tear and break down. So I bought replacements for THEM. All in all, I have probably spent $150 on pairs of jeans in the past year and a half. All so that I can have a rotating stock of 2-3 pairs at my fingertips. Now why do we do such ridiculous things as buy new pants when the old ones start to go bad? Simple - because it's cheaper, easier, and less time-consuming to do so.
A pair of $25 jeans at Target is very easily replaceable. Once they get frayed or torn or stained, just go buy a new pair. What's the alternative? Mend a pair of jeans? Yeah, maybe. At what cost? Pay a tailor to do it, and you're looking at a minimum of $20. and then you've got mended pants. not new ones. and you've only saved $5. The opportunity cost is negligible. You could mend the pants yourself...but that requires a skill set that has long-since fallen by the wayside of American know-how...all in the name of modernity and progress.
We buy new stuff when the old stuff wears out because we can. Because the cost to replace is cheaper than or equal to the cost to fix. That's an economic system built to collapse. Maybe not today or tomorrow...but it certainly is unsustainable.
Clearly we're not breaking new ground on the front of economic analysis here. This situation has been well-known by economists and Marketing firms for decades. but, strangely, though the consumer knows that it is an economic wash to replace, not repair, we blindly accept the fact that this is the way it should be. We buy cheap consumable goods because we know we can also replace them cheaply when they (inevitably) break or fall apart. Few companies exist these days that make equipment or goods built to be repaired, mended, or altered. The companies that do this have been hedged into the "luxury brand" tier, a misnomer that companies willingly perpetuate just to survive.
Think about all of the different things you have in your house - kitchen appliances, knives, blankets, clothing, towels, rugs, etc. Think about how many of those things you'd be willing to pay money to repair if they were to break, tear, or otherwise malfunction. It would be far too easy to simply buy a new one, throw the old one away (or foist it upon the good folks at the Salvation Army or Goodwill store and let them take their chances on fixing it) and be done with the situation.
A solution seems to be to care for your items as if they were priceless heirlooms. But a $40 steam iron does not an heirloom make. Neither does a Pier 1 braided 3'x5' rug. Few of the things we own today have any significance (sentimental, financial, or erstwhile) attached to them. And yet we continue to be consumed by our neverending, ravenous consumption habits.
We don't give a damn about a single thing we own, and yet we can't seem to live without any of it.
I don't know how we've managed to wedge ourselves into this paradox, but I'm all for suggestions on how the hell we get ourselves out of this mess.
9.07.2008
The fine line between hippiedom and standing up for what you believe in
I work in an office. there is a dress code that is, for the most part, implied. everyone seems to follow it, with a few exceptions on the also-unspoken "semi-business casual fridays". From Monday through Thursday, it's pretty much all business. not business-casual. business-business. As in shirt with collar, tie, and (should be wearing it ) suit coat. I very rarely wear a suit coat, so in that respect, I feel like somewhat of a rebel. But most days, I'm definitely a shirt and tie guy. Enter my most recent purchase. But first some background...
I am "big" into the concept of living simply, knowing where one's goods and services are REALLY coming from, and trying to fight the current Amerocentric trend of "death by consumption" through the selective purchasing of only the goods that I need, and only the goods that support economies that I believe in...or have financial interest in seeing survive. I am anti-sweatshop (though who would ever stand up and declare that they are "Pro-sweatshop?") and try to mirror my purchases based on the concept that all humans deserve a fair wage for an honest day's work. In the Target and WalMart and TJ Maxx worlds we live in, this is a difficult ideal to live out. I can't tell you how many times I've walked out of these stores empty handed because I just got sick and tired of seeing the "Made in China" labels on everything. I mean, seriously. Are we as Americans REALLY so blind to be able to ignore the hard fact that, in a fair economy, there's no way a set of 4 glass glasses should EVER be the equivalent of $2 in today's economy. I'll pay more! Please, let me pay more! I just want those workers to get out of their legal indentured servitude that is being foisted on them in the name of economic progress. But lest I diverge into a diatribe that is filled with more emotion than hard fact, let me return to my clothing situation.
I deal with issues of green building, sustainable development, and renewable energy in my job. As my boss says, I'm the company's "Jiminy Cricket," the annoying little voice that says "should we be doing this?" It's easier for the company if I just keep my fat mouth shut and remain complicit in all the decisions of the design and construction group...but that's NOT my job. I was hired to be the noodge, the voice of conservation, the guy who is always thinking of some way to make things better for the planet. So I pipe up. I say things. Sometimes they're good ideas, sometimes not so much. So it is. Back to the clothing...
I feel that in my position, I have a unique ability to be the guy who is just a little bit "out there". Lord knows I do a fantastic job at that. In this respect, I feel on par (stylistically speaking) with the ubiquitous stereotype of a company IT guy (or girl). As the Dilbert comic spoke the prophetic words so many years ago [paraphrased] (under a picture of a guy with an untucked shirt and necklaces, wearing sandals) "I am the only one who understands your company's software systems. worship me."
I am the environmental guy in my company. Is it really so bad for me to be just a little "crunchy"? Case in point- I recently bought some organic cotton duck trousers. they have clean lines, are very simple khaki-colored pants, and are, as I see them, completely awesome. But there is something unmistakably "sail cloth-y" about them. I wore them with a shirt and tie into work for three days last week and felt unmistakably rebellious. No one said anything, but I couldn't help but feel guilty about my clothing choice. is it really fair for me to be wearing these pants when others must suffer in their double-breasted suits of armor? My current line of reasoning is "no", but I think I'm going to rock the duck pants regardless.
My current line of thinking has me slowly replacing my wardrobe (as things break down or become irrevocably stained from buffalo chicken wraps at lunchtime- more on that one later) with more "responsible" clothing options. While some may scoff at the idea of organic cotton being a responsible choice (the pants, after all, WERE made in SE Asia...but the ignorant hippie in me has to believe that the good folks at Patagonia are serious enough about their environmental commitments to also investigate the working conditions of their overseas manufacturing facilities...but this blind assumption may indeed end up causing me, and my Thai brethren and sistren, more harm than good), I feel like I have to start SOMEWHERE. I would totally buy a pair of rockin' SIMPLE shoes with the hemp uppers and recycled rubber soles...but they are made in China. and I have a problem with that.
Oh, the myriad choices we are faced with as consumers everyday. Is there not a way for us to know that we are supporting international workers who have merely to deal with their God-ordained plight to toil over the land and suffer through childbirth? I mean, if we're all on the same footing and are suffering (and being redeemed) equally through the fall of Adam and the resurrection of Jesus Christ, it feels all too ridiculous that certain walks of mankind should have such a death-grip over those less economically advantaged than the uber-consumers in the "developed world". But it is precisely BECAUSE of that uber-consumer mentality that we have allowed this propagation of subjugation to continue. God forbid if I have to pay $20 for a set of 4 glasses or $100 for a pair of pants.
Here I stand - a guy in organic cotton chinos and a 5-year-old white collared shirt, dreaming of a day when material goods are actually priced at their fair market value. Families of 5 all across this nation are surely in disagreement with me...but there HAS to be a better way than our current paradigm of consume, consume, consume...
I am "big" into the concept of living simply, knowing where one's goods and services are REALLY coming from, and trying to fight the current Amerocentric trend of "death by consumption" through the selective purchasing of only the goods that I need, and only the goods that support economies that I believe in...or have financial interest in seeing survive. I am anti-sweatshop (though who would ever stand up and declare that they are "Pro-sweatshop?") and try to mirror my purchases based on the concept that all humans deserve a fair wage for an honest day's work. In the Target and WalMart and TJ Maxx worlds we live in, this is a difficult ideal to live out. I can't tell you how many times I've walked out of these stores empty handed because I just got sick and tired of seeing the "Made in China" labels on everything. I mean, seriously. Are we as Americans REALLY so blind to be able to ignore the hard fact that, in a fair economy, there's no way a set of 4 glass glasses should EVER be the equivalent of $2 in today's economy. I'll pay more! Please, let me pay more! I just want those workers to get out of their legal indentured servitude that is being foisted on them in the name of economic progress. But lest I diverge into a diatribe that is filled with more emotion than hard fact, let me return to my clothing situation.
I deal with issues of green building, sustainable development, and renewable energy in my job. As my boss says, I'm the company's "Jiminy Cricket," the annoying little voice that says "should we be doing this?" It's easier for the company if I just keep my fat mouth shut and remain complicit in all the decisions of the design and construction group...but that's NOT my job. I was hired to be the noodge, the voice of conservation, the guy who is always thinking of some way to make things better for the planet. So I pipe up. I say things. Sometimes they're good ideas, sometimes not so much. So it is. Back to the clothing...
I feel that in my position, I have a unique ability to be the guy who is just a little bit "out there". Lord knows I do a fantastic job at that. In this respect, I feel on par (stylistically speaking) with the ubiquitous stereotype of a company IT guy (or girl). As the Dilbert comic spoke the prophetic words so many years ago [paraphrased] (under a picture of a guy with an untucked shirt and necklaces, wearing sandals) "I am the only one who understands your company's software systems. worship me."
I am the environmental guy in my company. Is it really so bad for me to be just a little "crunchy"? Case in point- I recently bought some organic cotton duck trousers. they have clean lines, are very simple khaki-colored pants, and are, as I see them, completely awesome. But there is something unmistakably "sail cloth-y" about them. I wore them with a shirt and tie into work for three days last week and felt unmistakably rebellious. No one said anything, but I couldn't help but feel guilty about my clothing choice. is it really fair for me to be wearing these pants when others must suffer in their double-breasted suits of armor? My current line of reasoning is "no", but I think I'm going to rock the duck pants regardless.
My current line of thinking has me slowly replacing my wardrobe (as things break down or become irrevocably stained from buffalo chicken wraps at lunchtime- more on that one later) with more "responsible" clothing options. While some may scoff at the idea of organic cotton being a responsible choice (the pants, after all, WERE made in SE Asia...but the ignorant hippie in me has to believe that the good folks at Patagonia are serious enough about their environmental commitments to also investigate the working conditions of their overseas manufacturing facilities...but this blind assumption may indeed end up causing me, and my Thai brethren and sistren, more harm than good), I feel like I have to start SOMEWHERE. I would totally buy a pair of rockin' SIMPLE shoes with the hemp uppers and recycled rubber soles...but they are made in China. and I have a problem with that.
Oh, the myriad choices we are faced with as consumers everyday. Is there not a way for us to know that we are supporting international workers who have merely to deal with their God-ordained plight to toil over the land and suffer through childbirth? I mean, if we're all on the same footing and are suffering (and being redeemed) equally through the fall of Adam and the resurrection of Jesus Christ, it feels all too ridiculous that certain walks of mankind should have such a death-grip over those less economically advantaged than the uber-consumers in the "developed world". But it is precisely BECAUSE of that uber-consumer mentality that we have allowed this propagation of subjugation to continue. God forbid if I have to pay $20 for a set of 4 glasses or $100 for a pair of pants.
Here I stand - a guy in organic cotton chinos and a 5-year-old white collared shirt, dreaming of a day when material goods are actually priced at their fair market value. Families of 5 all across this nation are surely in disagreement with me...but there HAS to be a better way than our current paradigm of consume, consume, consume...
6.07.2008
Mine, all mine
This is a picture of my kitchen sink.
It's currently quite messy (by my standards). But, damn it, it's MY SINK!
Ah, the joy of making mortgage payments.
It's currently quite messy (by my standards). But, damn it, it's MY SINK!
Ah, the joy of making mortgage payments.
6.05.2008
Amateur floor refinishing for one.
I bought a condo in Cambridge a few months ago. I had the extreme luxury of taking a month to move into my new place, so I went in and did some necessary moderate-to-ambitious home improvements, chief among which was the refinishing of my kitchen floor. After reading about 5 different online posts of amateur do-it-yourselfers (the equivalent of double-A ballplayers) who had accomplished similar feats, I felt empowered to give it a spin. Or, more appropriately, give it a sand.
Given my extensive construction and development expertise, I decided that there were certain warnings and tips offered up by these likeminded enthusiasts that didn't necessarily apply to me.
a) I had tremendous doubts about the ability of the dust generated to "land on everything in sight", so I proceeded onward with little regard for the cleanup process that might be necessary once complete. Needless to say, I am still finding little enclaves of microscopic piney goodness wedged in the most inconceivable of places- inside cabinet drawer handles, caked in the creases of plastic bags stored in the cupboards, coating the underside of my broiler pan. It's like I thought the laws of physics and particle motion didn't apply to me. Boy was I wrong. Still, I had not yet moved my furniture in yet, so I was saved the arduous task of repeatedly vacuuming a microsuede couch. Thank you Jesus for small moments of clarity.
b) the drum sander was not recommended for the first-time-refinisher. The more lackadaisical "pad sander" was recommended, but was advertised as not doing quite as good a job as the drum sander. Wanting nothing but the best for my poor, beat-up kitchen floor, I went with the drum sander. Besides, I was an expert. I had personally overseen the construction of radar towers, multifamily homes, European-style glass-and-metal tenant fit-outs, and complex HVAC system retrofits. A drum sander I could handle. The sheer terror involved in letting this beastly device down onto my floor for the first time is an experience I will not soon forget. It's rather like filling a five-year-old child with sugary sweets and then immediately taking him to an antique mart, trying to guide him through narrow aisles filled with overpriced, breakable tchotchkies, and telling him that he isn't allowed to touch anything, no matter how shiny and pretty it may be. My forearms ached for no less than three days afterwards.
c) The use of an oil-based sealer was recommended as a first coat on bare wood, especially when using water-based wood varnish. Not wanting to contribute to further environmental degradation through the purchase of this toxic, hazardous, oil-based chemical, I thought it best to forego that step and skip directly to the application of my clear water-based finish. Besides, I wanted a "natural" look for my floor, so the tint given to wood when applying an oil-based finish would not fit in with my desired aesthetic. Let's just say that the warnings were not unfounded. while my floor looks quite pretty, upon closer inspection you can see how the first coat of water-based finish actually raised the grain on my floor. I like to think of it as "traction control" when I'm wearing socks. Others may not see it the same way.
d) Most people recommended applying at least 4-5 coats of finish, in order to maximize lustre and protection. The concept of committing to a 5-coat application is very nebulous. After two coats, it was not immediately apparent that I would require 4 or 5. If I did one thing right in this whole process, it was applying the third and fourth coats. By the end of the fourth coat, I was ready to never refinish another floor as long as I was alive on this planet. But, after a few weeks spent standing back and admiring my handiwork, I have to say that I'm seriously contemplating doing the other half of my condo. It's rather like flossing- it's tedious and definitely not exciting, but the payoff in the end makes the pain during the action seem that much more bearable.
For my first time doing it 100% on my own, I shouldn't complain. I mean, I didn't destroy my floor, it's arguably more aesthetically pleasing than before, and I saved several hundred dollars by doing it myself. That drum sander was ridiculously heavy, though. I remain convinced that I gave myself a hernia lifing the damn thing into my hatchback. Ah, the joys of homeownership.
Given my extensive construction and development expertise, I decided that there were certain warnings and tips offered up by these likeminded enthusiasts that didn't necessarily apply to me.
a) I had tremendous doubts about the ability of the dust generated to "land on everything in sight", so I proceeded onward with little regard for the cleanup process that might be necessary once complete. Needless to say, I am still finding little enclaves of microscopic piney goodness wedged in the most inconceivable of places- inside cabinet drawer handles, caked in the creases of plastic bags stored in the cupboards, coating the underside of my broiler pan. It's like I thought the laws of physics and particle motion didn't apply to me. Boy was I wrong. Still, I had not yet moved my furniture in yet, so I was saved the arduous task of repeatedly vacuuming a microsuede couch. Thank you Jesus for small moments of clarity.
b) the drum sander was not recommended for the first-time-refinisher. The more lackadaisical "pad sander" was recommended, but was advertised as not doing quite as good a job as the drum sander. Wanting nothing but the best for my poor, beat-up kitchen floor, I went with the drum sander. Besides, I was an expert. I had personally overseen the construction of radar towers, multifamily homes, European-style glass-and-metal tenant fit-outs, and complex HVAC system retrofits. A drum sander I could handle. The sheer terror involved in letting this beastly device down onto my floor for the first time is an experience I will not soon forget. It's rather like filling a five-year-old child with sugary sweets and then immediately taking him to an antique mart, trying to guide him through narrow aisles filled with overpriced, breakable tchotchkies, and telling him that he isn't allowed to touch anything, no matter how shiny and pretty it may be. My forearms ached for no less than three days afterwards.
c) The use of an oil-based sealer was recommended as a first coat on bare wood, especially when using water-based wood varnish. Not wanting to contribute to further environmental degradation through the purchase of this toxic, hazardous, oil-based chemical, I thought it best to forego that step and skip directly to the application of my clear water-based finish. Besides, I wanted a "natural" look for my floor, so the tint given to wood when applying an oil-based finish would not fit in with my desired aesthetic. Let's just say that the warnings were not unfounded. while my floor looks quite pretty, upon closer inspection you can see how the first coat of water-based finish actually raised the grain on my floor. I like to think of it as "traction control" when I'm wearing socks. Others may not see it the same way.
d) Most people recommended applying at least 4-5 coats of finish, in order to maximize lustre and protection. The concept of committing to a 5-coat application is very nebulous. After two coats, it was not immediately apparent that I would require 4 or 5. If I did one thing right in this whole process, it was applying the third and fourth coats. By the end of the fourth coat, I was ready to never refinish another floor as long as I was alive on this planet. But, after a few weeks spent standing back and admiring my handiwork, I have to say that I'm seriously contemplating doing the other half of my condo. It's rather like flossing- it's tedious and definitely not exciting, but the payoff in the end makes the pain during the action seem that much more bearable.
For my first time doing it 100% on my own, I shouldn't complain. I mean, I didn't destroy my floor, it's arguably more aesthetically pleasing than before, and I saved several hundred dollars by doing it myself. That drum sander was ridiculously heavy, though. I remain convinced that I gave myself a hernia lifing the damn thing into my hatchback. Ah, the joys of homeownership.
4.27.2008
I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob...
It's been almost three years since I last posted anything. Wow. It's funny how life just happens while you're waiting for bigger and better things to come around.
Not to rip off a John Lennon quote or anything, but it seems to be increasingly true as I, along with my peer group, inch towards the end of the foundation-building twenties and into the ambivalent thirties. It's difficult to fathom how years seem to tick off like college semesters now that our primary metric for measuring the march of time involves events that only come around once a year. Before, in the embrace of academia, the beginning and ending of the semesters signaled the opportunity for rebirth, rededication, and renewal. The opportunity to slough off the dead skin of mediocre academic performance, relationships gone wrong, and financial distress was always as near as the next semester.
Now that my life is metered by the four seasons, and so-called progress is marked by the passing of various holidays and annual traditions, I find myself awash in a paucity of opportunities for reflection and re-evaluation of my life, my dreams, my goals, and my own personal progress towards...well, whatever it is I'm supposed to be marching towards.
Perhaps the transition into this annualized existence has allowed me to become more lazy in my re-evaluation of my status quo. Mind you, I have no problem getting lost inside my head, but to sit down and actually evaluate- on paper, in prayer, out loud- the 'state of my state' is a process that has historically fallen by the wayside. I think my primary excuse for discarding this evaluative opportunity revolves around a lurking suspicion that any bar charts or chi-squared analyses plotting my progress would invariably leave me feeling inadequately advanced compared to the "shoulds" of my twenties.
Lest this post fall into yet another well of progress-less introspection, I'll leave with this swing thought: if we are subjected to annual or semi-annual or quarterly reviews in our places of employment, then how much more important should it be to engage in a similar process in our own personal spheres? Given how we are becoming increasingly pulled into the pitfall of defining our progress in life through our progress in advancing up some sort of career ladder, it should be worth the effort to step back and do some mental homework...an analysis that isn't published on company letterhead, but one rather that comes from within, and takes an account of what our dreams are, what our personal goals are, where our spiritual pulse is at, and what we're actively doing to progress along in those dreams and goals, and where our spirits are heading.
Your boss doesn't get to read this status report, but it may be a worthwile exercise to share with a friend, a spouse, or someone you implicitly trust.
...someone you are comfortable enough to have in the room while folding your clean laundry...that's my personal metric...
Not to rip off a John Lennon quote or anything, but it seems to be increasingly true as I, along with my peer group, inch towards the end of the foundation-building twenties and into the ambivalent thirties. It's difficult to fathom how years seem to tick off like college semesters now that our primary metric for measuring the march of time involves events that only come around once a year. Before, in the embrace of academia, the beginning and ending of the semesters signaled the opportunity for rebirth, rededication, and renewal. The opportunity to slough off the dead skin of mediocre academic performance, relationships gone wrong, and financial distress was always as near as the next semester.
Now that my life is metered by the four seasons, and so-called progress is marked by the passing of various holidays and annual traditions, I find myself awash in a paucity of opportunities for reflection and re-evaluation of my life, my dreams, my goals, and my own personal progress towards...well, whatever it is I'm supposed to be marching towards.
Perhaps the transition into this annualized existence has allowed me to become more lazy in my re-evaluation of my status quo. Mind you, I have no problem getting lost inside my head, but to sit down and actually evaluate- on paper, in prayer, out loud- the 'state of my state' is a process that has historically fallen by the wayside. I think my primary excuse for discarding this evaluative opportunity revolves around a lurking suspicion that any bar charts or chi-squared analyses plotting my progress would invariably leave me feeling inadequately advanced compared to the "shoulds" of my twenties.
Lest this post fall into yet another well of progress-less introspection, I'll leave with this swing thought: if we are subjected to annual or semi-annual or quarterly reviews in our places of employment, then how much more important should it be to engage in a similar process in our own personal spheres? Given how we are becoming increasingly pulled into the pitfall of defining our progress in life through our progress in advancing up some sort of career ladder, it should be worth the effort to step back and do some mental homework...an analysis that isn't published on company letterhead, but one rather that comes from within, and takes an account of what our dreams are, what our personal goals are, where our spiritual pulse is at, and what we're actively doing to progress along in those dreams and goals, and where our spirits are heading.
Your boss doesn't get to read this status report, but it may be a worthwile exercise to share with a friend, a spouse, or someone you implicitly trust.
...someone you are comfortable enough to have in the room while folding your clean laundry...that's my personal metric...
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