Je T'aime...Moi Non Plus (Le Remix)

Oh, Apple, je t'aime. I have loved you since I was doing cutting-edge BASIC programming on the Apple II in my gifted class, circa 1980 (50 IF A$ "Yes" THEN GOTO 120; 120 PRINT "You are TOTALLY AWESOME", U$) . That was pretty shrewd marketing on your part, hooking me on your drugs at age 8. But I was willing; you were so cool. If it had been me buying the computer instead of my father, we would never have bothered with the two Trash-80s (although I think there is now a certain cache to having actually owned the one with the cassette tape drive), nor would we have thrown money down the drain with that Amiga 500, but you know, the old dudes were hooked in their youth on IBM.

Though largely a slave to the Macintosh side of the college computer lab, once free to spend my (parents') money on the computer of my choice (as opposed to the obligation I/my father had to replace my friend's half-typewriter/half-computer in Paris after my confusion as to whether or not it needed a 110-220 converter (it did) led to its immediate and fiery demise), I ran straight back into your loving arms my senior year of college. My trusty PowerBook Duo with docking station saw me through an 80 page thesis on how democracy and Islam were inherently compatible (as would surely play out in Algeria), preparation for oral philosophy exams (requiring relearning and regurgitation of 4 years of study), and then three years of law school.

But then, entry into the legal field required working with Word Perfect. And while I maintain, to this day, that WP is a vastly superior product to the crap Microsoft cobbled together in an extremely poor imitation thereof, the fact is that you and Corel never got along. And thus, I was finally required to cross over to the dark side of PCism. I'm so sorry, Apple, you know I didn't want to do it, but you made me. Had you been a less belligerent company regarding software, or not been so half-assed about allowing me to flip between operating systems, I never would have left you. Your ridiculous and spiteful ways regarding Microsoft have always left those of us who love you unable to work with you. And now you're doing it with Google, too, you idiots. J'accuse, Apple!

Still, I cannot escape my addiction to you. The fact is, you are the most beautiful thing with two USB ports. (Who needs 3, really?) Growing up with a modern architect who insisted on all white walls and no knick knacks, of course I love your minimalist design. In short, I was born to love you, 15" Macbook Pro, with your beautiful (recycled!) aluminum unibody and glass construction, the magical Multi-Touch Trackpad, backlit keyboard with ergonomic keys, brilliant HD display, and high-end graphics card. And you are Energy Star rated, with an 8-hour battery life (if I'm not running anything). I really, really, really want you.


And the truth is, I have, with the advent of the new laptop system at work, been freed from my absolute need to have a PC at home. And even though our new laptop system came with a new tech system that no longer supports Lotus Notes on Macs, the truth is that I have this old Acer here that I can use if for some reason I'm working from home and didn't lug home that 10 lb piece of crap Dell laptop the USG provided me. And to be honest, I don't know which I hated more - the old HP I had (which was produced under Carly Fiorina's tenure there and does nothing to inspire any confidence whatsoever in her ability to produce a useful, working product, much less state government), or the Acer I now have. Why Acer felt the need to partition my 80 GB hard drive into two unmergeable 40 GB drives, thus leaving me insufficient memory to run anything, is beyond me. People say, "d, d, whenever WILL you put up the pictures of [the house/the trip/your really cute kitty]" and I have to reply, "Well, I've been trying to upload them for 17 days now and I'm still only halfway there!!" And then there is the whole nightmare of trying to run Adobe Photoshop when your computer is essentially powered by a really tired, old, fat hamster. I'm so tired of the random BSOD periods that are apparently related to the graphics card that has never properly worked, which take over my computer for entire days at a time and then disappear as if there's no problem at all. I'd like to be able to run my iPhone on my own computer (instead of my spouse's) for a change, since there isn't enough room for Windows, Word, Photoshop, and iTunes on this doorstop-cum-laptop. Not that I don't appreciate my spouse's generosity, but I'm tired of the eyerolls I get when I ask him to download my favorite ELO or No Doubt CD, and I'd rather just cut off his ability to sneak in the entire Morrissey catalogue in the (vain) hope that I will learn to worship The Moz. Of course, if I turn back into your cold embrace, Apple, I know that I'll have to fend off his theft of you, just like when he railed against you for years but then promptly stole my 2Gen iPod.

So, I'm ready, Apple. I'm ready, but it's the extra $800 I'd have to spend to own you that has come between us. I've priced the Runner Up (the Vaio), Miss Congeniality (the new Samsung), and the Ugly Duckling (ThinkPad), and in order to get what I am told I should probably have for what I want to do (mostly photo work, running my iPhone, working from home once in awhile, and maybe some Garage Band action): 8GB RAM, 500 GB hard drive, i5 processor, 15" HD non-glare screen, and MS Office, everyone else is considerably less than you. No, they aren't made from recycled materials, no they aren't as pretty, their batteries are shite, they aren't as energy-efficient, they don't run as well, and they don't have your magic Multi-Touch, and I know these soft variables do have value but they are so hard to quantify, especially when you're still trying to pay your contractor to finish your house. It's just that I'm not sure your extras add up, especially since I'm still going to have to go track down some student or teacher willing to buy me a copy of Photoshop CS5 Extended and then I'm going to have to come up with tuition money to figure out how to use it.

I know, I know, you're reminding me of my earlier post about buying cheap crap and asking me to put my money where my consumer and aesthetic moral mouth is. But really, are you even worth the extra money or are you just trying to gouge me the way you always do, you evil, heartless computer pusher? You are the Ligne Roset of computers. But still...you'd look soooooo good on my desk.

Whatever is a girl to do?

Je t'aime (moi non plus)

Oh, Ligne Roset, je t'aime!

Stem Entertainment Console, you have stolen my heart.

I long to run my fingers over the curve of your walnut, the gloss of your lacquer.

I want to worship daily your perfect dimensions, your gorgeous form.

I have looked so long for you, over the internet and through U Street furniture stores.

You must be mine, you simply must...I will have no other!

You are $4,077.00 on sale...je te deteste, Ligne Roset.

Bread and Roses

After saving up a year's worth of vacation (and home improvement injuries to body and soul), I have finally taken a real vacation - three whole weeks off! (You'll never see an American strike over having to work a few extra years, good little drones that we are!) This long absence is in part why there has been no news on the home front; in solidarity with the French, who I can't help but love for being one of the last populations willing to hold its entire society hostage to fight for a culture of leisure, and also with the perhaps more noble and certainly more justified textile workers of the 1900s whose protests are immortalized in poem and my Bryn Mawr class song, I have gone on strike. My life shall not be sweated from birth until life closes - give me bread, but give me roses!!

And so, even though I've been home a month now, I'm still (mostly) on home improvement strike and instead of amusing you with my latest construction calamity, I am taking you, fair reader(s?), on a tour of my new favorite U.S. city - Portland, Oregon - also known as The City of Roses, and home to amazing food, excellent beer, stellar design, sustainable living, and, most importantly, the company of near and dear friends. There is also, apparently, a stubborn libertarian nudist streak (we saw bumper stickers lauding the joys of naked hiking, jogging, and biking in our few days there), which only adds to its charm from a visitor's perspective. In short, despite the weather, I would put Portland ahead of even New Orleans as what America can be when we take the best of what the world has come up with and make it uniquely ours.

In many respects, Portland shares a similar feel to DC - it is based on the confluence of the Willamette (Will-AH-mette, by the way) and Columbia Rivers, upstream of the Pacific Ocean by a couple of hours. Portland proper has about 500,000 residents, but the greater area is about 2.2 million people, which is a lot bigger than I had thought. The city itself is superbly planned, with incredible public transit (free to all in the main 3-mile downtown area, and each rail car and bus equipped with bike hooks/racks) and bike lanes everywhere (I give the Portlanders extra kudos for biking in all that rain). There is not only recycling but also city-wide composting. Portland is the U.S.' most sustainable city and one of the top 10 in the world (some say #1, some say #2, but to be totally fair, I think Freiburg, Germany has been wrongly dismissed in the lists - not only can you basically not have a car in certain neighborhoods, but not even Portland has laws limiting how much heat can leak from your house). Green space abounds throughout the city, with Forest Park, the largest wilderness city park in the U.S., covering 5,000 acres, and the lovely Washington Park, perched on a hill overlooking the city and home to the International Rose Test Garden. Apparently all that rain makes for good rose growing. I agree:

Can't you just smell these? White roses have been my lifelong favorite, although after seeing the beauty and smelling the most perfectly delicate perfume - an almost half rose/half lavender scent - of the pale purply-pink ones below, I think there is at least a tie. There were so many unique and interesting specimens, it was hard to pick a favorite.

In addition to the amazing Test Garden, there is also the most lovely Chinese garden I have ever come across, the Lan Su Chinese Garden right in the middle of downtown. I am a huge fan of Japanese gardens and had never really seen a formal Chinese garden, but there are lots of similarities:

In general, P-town has a pretty funky artsy industrial feel to the place, and they've done a lot to revive old warehouses. Everywhere you go, there seems to be either cool art and/or great design.

Portland also has an incredible music scene whose sound seems to match the weather. If i'd included a soundtrack to this post, it would feature The Shins, The Decemberists, Blitzen Trapper, and my very beloved M. Ward. Also, keep your eyes open for the debut of Aquavit! Our friend's band practice space is perhaps the coolest one ever, housed in a former industrial warehouse and complete with center stage free for any of the bands to use for concerts, and guitar strings in the vending machine:

Then there's the food and the beer. Portland has nearly 30 microbreweries, the best pinot noir in the country, and generally has fabulous food everywhere. Best of all were the prices, which were usually the equivalent of taco night in Alexandria, no matter how nice the place. (This might have something to do with Portland's 25% unemployment rate.) The city also has a burgeoning foodcart scene, complete with every kind of food you can think of, even if it wasn't one you thought of actually eating:

But the pies at this place looked pretty awesome:

They even best DC with having one of a handful of US Teuscher chocolate boutiques (one of my desert island foods is a Teuscher champagne truffle)...

But as usual, they were closed at an absurdly early hour (i have a growing collection of photos of closed Teuscher stores). I guess the Swiss keep Bahnhofstrasse operating hours, no matter where in the world they are.

If you're into Asian food & architecture and keep late hours, Biwa is a dream come true. Kobe beef sliders with sake and seaweed salad at 11pm. It's also housed in some sort of architecture school, so even the bathrooms are uber cool.

While technically outside of Portland, I also have to say that the best wood-fired pizza I have ever had was at Solstice Wood Fire Cafe in Bingen, WA. You may not have thought blackberries, mascarpone, and prosciutto belonged on pizza, but you would be oh so very wrong.

There was also quite the taco scene, much to the delight of my spouse, who is planning to apply for the Head Lab Researcher/Taste Tester position here. If he gets it, I expect we'll become a bi-coastal couple:

And then, there is Broder, home to the best bloody mary on the planet, made with fine Danish aquavit and homemade pickled vegetables instead of a celery stick. I asked for the recipe, but given their total silence, I'd say it's a trade secret.

Although perhaps my favorite meal of all was the lovely breakfast our friends made for us at their beautiful bungalow apartment in Irvington, complete with home-grown tomatoes:

As well as being a great city, Portland is surrounded by natural beauty, including the Columbia Gorge, where the two rivers cleave the Cascade mountains into a swath of cliffs and waterfalls, and which was one of the last stops for Lewis and Clark in their nearly 3 year ordeal/exploration of the United States. Multnomah Falls, the most famous of the string of waterfalls along the Gorge, is the second highest in the U.S. at 620'.

Bridal Veil Falls is another really famous fall in the Gorge:

But the clear favorite was Latourelle Falls, whose scale and colors defy explanation.

What is amazing is the scale - here is a shot with the guys waving from behind the falls (the two red dots):

After I returned to work, I was walking down a hall in a distant part of the building, and passed a framed poster for National Public Lands Day that has probably hung on the wall since the 1990s, and suddenly realized that it was almost this very shot.

Sadly, four days in Portland just isn't nearly enough time to take it all in. As it is, we missed Pine State Biscuits by 30 minutes. But that's okay; aside from the best reason to visit (two of our favorite people on the planet), it's always good to save something for the next time.

(Stay tuned for Part 2 of our Western Exploration, where we hit the San Juan Islands, the Olympic National Park, and Whistler, Canada. As soon as I sort through the 700 photos, I'll get a few up on the blog.)

Uh Oh, It's Magic

There it is, my 2:48am Victory Festbier to celebrate the painting of the kitchen. The first coat anyway. Given that i didn't really start until 10pm, and had to do a little sanding and all the cutting first, a 2:30 finish isn't too bad.

As you can see, it's a pretty dramatic change from the terra cotta walls of yore. We went with a Martha Stewart (shudder) paint called Heavy Goose for both the new room and the kitchen, which has engendered lots of jokes. Where do they come up with these names? What is it, exactly, about this particular shade of wintry white that made Martha think of some fat feathery fowl? Maybe she was making foie gras that day.

I'll do a proper photoshoot when it's all done, which you should expect sometime in 2012.

And now, the bad news:


Last weekend, I finished painting the new room, and was putting in the trim for the recessed lights when I discovered to my horror that only half of them work - the ones now dangling on the left side above. The right side doesn't work at all. First, I tried to troubleshoot: different bulbs, checking the connecting wires inside, etc. Nothing was wrong. I spent some time on the web and read a suggestion that a neutral wire was probably not connected somewhere, which made sense, although it had passed inspection and I had been very diligent about the connections, but thought maybe the drywall guys had inadvertently knocked something loose. The problem is that now that the ceiling is finished, searching for the loose connection meant ripping open holes to find it. So I did the logical thing and put my head down on the counter and wept bitterly.

Once I got my wits back together, I came back to the lights with dogged determination and the electric tester and found that all the boxes were getting power, so it likely wasn't a missing neutral connection. But mysteriously, not only are the hot (black) wires hot, but all the neutral (white) wires in the nonworking lights are also hot, whereas the working side are properly hot and neutral. This is bad, obviously. It's also really a mystery, because i wired all the boxes in a line, so i have no earthly idea how half of them would be in a different electrical state; maybe I had accidentally screwed up the wiring in the box somewhere. I consulted my wiring book and learned to my great relief that wiring in recessed boxes can actually be fixed from the hole- you just remove the shield that holds the trim and there is an access panel that can be opened from inside the box (a good idea). I was beginning to rue our decision to go with the 3" lights as i searched for a screwdriver short enough to fit in there, and once the trim pieces were out, it was still fortunate that i have such small hands, as getting those plates off the inside required squeezing your hand and wrist in there and feeling around for the latch, because there's not enough room for your hand and your eyes. There's a market for women electricians here, for sure.

Sadly, almost, my wiring was perfect. The fixture connections were fine, too. So no obvious solution exists. I thought about the switches and took all of those out to see if something had happened on that end - our electrician had actually done the switches and half of the wiring (including running power to the switch boxes and the last switch leg for the run), so I thought perhaps he had wired them incorrectly. They're on a 4-way switch, which is sadly not as kinky or fun as it sounds, but is definitely as complicated to organize. (Also, like all things relating to construction it makes no sense - a 4-way switch means you have 3 switches controlling one light/set of lights. A 3-way switch is actually two switches. A 2 x 4 piece of lumber is actually 1.75 x 3.75, the 2 x 2 mosaic tile is actually 1.85 x 1.85. Etc., etc.) Anyway, I pulled all the switches out and realized quickly that I have no clue what is happening in those switch boxes. Was it the traveler or the common...or the power in? I couldn't tell from the tangle before me. I am not, it turns out, an electrician.

These kinds of wiring fiascos (and I've had several in this project) remind me of a story my mother told me about the electrical engineers she went to architectural school with, who, when discussing radio frequencies and how they work joked that what FM really stands for is "Fucking Magic."

I am calling the magician.

[PS - I think this diagram sums up my experience pretty well.]

Past My Prime

What were you doing at this time last night? I'm guessing you were resting peacefully, hopefully having the sweetest of dreams.

Here's what I was doing:


To clarify, I was wrapping up priming the drywall on the first floor of the addition. The worst part of the job was, as it always is, the ceiling. Painting a ceiling requires that you keep your head back, supporting that heavy noggin of yours, while your shoulders also strain to control the roller, which in this project has the added joy of requiring balancing a 6-20 foot pole (extending to reach the part of the ceiling that's over the stairs) atop which the roller sits. I find this to be one of the most excruciating tasks of home improvement, for not only does it leave your entire upper body in a tangle of knots, but you end up walking into things because you aren't watching where you're walking. I almost knocked over the paint twice, acquired about 10 bruises, and 2 bloody gashes. As an added bonus, I ended up with paint in my hair and all over my bare arms and legs. In addition to skipping the common sense notion of wearing full body cover, I also ignored the warning on the primer to wear eye protection, figuring my eyeglasses were enough, but narrowly missed a splotch of runaway paint that bombed right past my lens and missed my left eye by a lash.

It occurred to me as I was wrapping up that it was nearly 10 years ago that I started working on this project I (now) call a house. Back in The Hadean Age, my daily routine consisted of working from 9-6:30 pm, coming home, having a bowl of cereal, changing into work clothes, and tackling some project until the wee hours of the morning, then wrapping up the day's work with a beer and a cigarette on the porch. I washed, rinsed, and repeated this daily cycle for about 2 years. Now I no longer smoke and avoid the front porch because of the crazy neighbors who are always on theirs. And until last night, I had forgotten about how good it felt to wrap up a day of hard labor with a cool bottle of good beer and (i'm sorry all you non-smokers) the delicious pulsing of nicotine through my veins, which had an amazingly restorative effect. Having neither item, I had to make do with another vice - namely wasting lots of hot water in an effort to soothe my poor, now ten-years-older body. I guess I should be happy that I can still pull off such late-night labors.

Anyway, things are starting to shape up, and I'm especially pleased with the way the exposed beam looks:


And now that the walls are primed, now all we need to do is pick out a shade of white to paint the walls. And then paint them.

Are you there, God? It's Me, D.

Dear God(dess/Allah/Yahweh/Buddha/Vishnu/Takuskanskan/Zeus, et al.),

Seriously, what have I done to offend thee so? I'm not trying to dismiss my imperfections - and they are many - and I'm not trying to sit in judgment of others when I write this (truly!) - but am I as bad as the Tony Haywards or Rush Limbaughs of this world? Because I bet their houses haven't been under construction for four years, and I have to wonder - pretty much every time I pick up the paper and see a stream of viciousness, vile, and oil spewed forth to sully this beautiful world you all have put together - you know, the one I have devoted my entire career and much of my "free time" trying to protect from the whims of these crazy creatures called "humans" you chose to invent for reasons I'm sure you don't remember anymore, either - I can't help but feel a bit of resentment about their (respective) $18 million reward for overseeing the biggest environmental catastrophe in the Gulf and five house compound complete with a miniature version of the Biltmore Library - an offense to those who actually seek wisdom and truth if there ever was one.

I'm not even asking for a 24,000 ft2 mansion with cherubs dancing on the ceilings of my library or an $18MM golden parachute and transfer to Russia. I'd just like to finish a 500 ft2 addition without going into bankruptcy or the insane asylum. But while we're on the subject of libraries, I would also like to be able to sit on our worn out sofa to read a book without ending up covered in cat hair, although I know the vacuum is clearly under my control (I'm just saying, if you could engineer a cute and furry cat that doesn't shed, that would be perfect - and that bald sphinx cat thing clearly had to be a joke in response to someone else's prayer who fogot to specify that they wanted a cat with fur that didn't shed. I'm guessing they didn't realize your penchant for specificity, which should be obvious from all the laws you've set forth. So, while I'm thinking of it, if this new cat didn't want to naturally shred the furniture, yowl at 5am for no reason, or use its bodily functions as a means of expressing displeasure, that would involve major bonus points.) (But let me be clear, I can totally live without my dream cat - that's more of an extra-curricular project if you're interested. I'm here about the addition. But you know how I always digress.)

I remained optimistic when you sent that weird tornado-like storm through our neighborhood yesterday and took down half the trees in the area that the power would be on in time for the drywall guys to come in today and sand the mud so we can finally paint, so we can finally put in the floor, so we can finally put up the glass block wall and finally move on with our lives. I did not ONCE complain about not having A/C last night - not even silently, in my head. If you were listening, you would have heard my usual optimism saying "Well, at least there's a cool breeze tonight! Could be worse!!" You saw me reading my book on the roof garden by glowstick - you did not hear me complaining! You heard me enjoying the night air and the sounds of your multitude of chirpy insects (I'm sorry if flicking that spider off of me offended you - i'm sure it didn't get hurt, though). And when the power finally came on at 7:45am - right before the 8am deadline to let the drywall guys know whether they could work today - I thanked you, but was not surprised. I knew you would come through.

It's when I heard the transformer behind the house explode as the power shut back off at 8:15 am and stayed off, despite my pleading with you on actual bended knees to turn it back on before 9 am pretty, pretty, pretty please with sugar on top, pleeeeeeeeease!! and yet off it remained and then, to top it off, the drywall guys now can't come to work until Tuesday, that I was reminded of Job's most famous line: Oh God, why hast thou forsaken me?! I'm sorry, I know that when Job said it, you were gravely disappointed, and so you're probably none too pleased with me for thinking it, either. But there's only so much the human spirit can endure, you know?

I know, I know, I'm a drama queen. You made me, though, so you get what you pay for, I guess. But seriously, consider this a formal petition: please, Lord, let my project go. I'm sorry if I built it on a sacred burial ground or the font of your perpetual anger. Like Eve, I didn't really know what I was getting into here - I was lured by the slick talk of a snake and a heavenly (i.e., Dwell-worthy) design. You would have fallen for it, too, had you been facing the real estate market of 2006 when you made this decision. But anyway, I'm really, really sorry, and I beg your forgiveness and I know there are googles of things that are vastly more important than the construction plight of one silly girl (and boy) - wars, floods, famines, diseases, etc. - seriously, I get that and feel guilty for even bothering you about this. But if you have a little extra time - just a second - we could use your help in bringing this project to closure before I lose my mind. I'm not even asking for a return of all my previous good fortune seven-fold (besides, if we had 7 cats, I think the boy would move out, so one is cool), I'd just like peace.

Yours truly,

D.

The Butterfly

I have so many things to write about the house, but none of them are particularly inspiring. So, per the urging of a friend of mine, I am sharing with those few of you who still read this blog a little story I related to her regarding my journey home yesterday.

I was riding the metro home, lodged in my turbulent head, feeling like crap (ill, old, wondering what it's all for), when my eyes happened upon the most beautiful butterfly resting on the very bottom of the divider by one of the doors. This was around Pentagon station. Despite the stops, no one else seemed to notice this majestic yellow and black bit of fauna that had inexplicably left its more appropriate context for this industrial world. And, as it didn't once flap its wings or move the slightest bit despite the shuffling on and off of the passengers, I thought it might well be dead.

As we approached my station, I got up and walked over to the butterfly and just as the train stopped, bent down to see if it was alive and to try to take it off of the train. As I gently reached out my fingers, suddenly up and away it flitted, and a frantic effort to catch or direct the butterfly off the train ensued. There I was, chasing a butterfly about the train car, trying to get both of us off before the doors closed. And everyone's sullen spaced-out faces suddenly came alive with the surprise adventure playing out before them and I could feel the collected hush and tension - everyone rooting for me to help this poor creature escape, while also thinking I was slightly batty. There were oooos and finally ohhhs as the butterfly miraculously latched itself onto my waist and I was able to dart out the doors just before they closed.

And there the butterfly remained as I walked home trying to shelter it from the wind, past the quizzical stares and smiles of passing strangers. It was a little ragged at the bottom of its wings, and clung to me all the way to the house. I thought it might be at the end of its life and just couldn't bear to think of this beautiful creature dying alone on a subway car. So I transferred it to our tomato plant in the hope that it might eat something (not knowing, exactly what butterflies eat, but having seen some in the zoo eating fruit). I went out an hour later and it hadn't moved and as I was terrified that it would be knocked from the leaves by the wind, we plucked the leaf it sat on and placed it on the more sheltered lavender cotton plant, which is closer to a patch of moss, so that should its end be nigh, it would not drop down onto a ragged concrete sidewalk but onto a soft green space as would be more appropriate.

This morning I went out, holding my breath, but the butterfly had flown away.