|Crocodiles and Paint
||[Jan. 25th, 2013|02:32 pm]
I need to send the link below to the people who lived next to us in my hometown. They used to become outraged when my horses would occasionally bust the fence and wander across the yard and had near apoplexy when a herd of donkeys wound up in our backyard on Christmas morning. (Go ahead, make all the nativity jokes you want. We sure did.) Don’t even get me started on the herds of dairy cattle, flocks of geese and sheep that would wander through the neighborhood from time to time. Oh, you called the police because there were a dozen escaped Holsteins in your backyard? 15,000 crocodiles…I suppose that would have merited a call to the national guard….
So, Disney’s going to RFID (radio frequency ID, you’re probably more familiar with it when a product you’re buying sets off the alarm as you leave the store because it didn’t get deactivated at checkout. The rectangular things used to just set off alarms. These are more like metal-impregnated stickers and can contain more information than OMG, someone’s stealing razor blades!) and you’ll now be tagged like an endangered migratory bird, with all your wanderings about the park being tracked and summated. Although honestly, if it makes the wait for a ride any shorter, I could give a rat’s patoot if, on this one day, Disney knows how many times I have to pee. When I walk into MouseLand, I abandon all fantasies about being a self-determining individual. I have willingly chosen to be the Mouse’s bitch for the day, have at me. But I will thwart you all I can and pay cash for food and souvenirs and not use my Mickey Account or whatever the hell it’s called. Because I may be your bitch, but I’ll be a dick about it. I can’t reproduce the link where I found this news, as it’s subscription based, although it’s no secret, so you can google it if you want. But the newsletter I got it from writes “Moving deeper into personal data collection, Walt Disney Parks and Resorts is introducing a MagicBand tool, rubber bracelets that enable Disney to track guest behavior in minute detail. Will shoppers forsake privacy concerns for a more interactive and personalized shopping experience?”
Seriously, I do not WANT a more interactive and personalized shopping experience. Here’s what I want: fast, easy and to be left alone until I have a question or need, and then I want someone with an IQ higher than my heartbeat to help me, while pretending to care. Gotta give Disney props – they actually deliver the last two. Which also explains, to a certain degree, why going to Disney costs an arm and a leg.
Have you people lost my mind? I know that I’ve been all about home improvement since Christmas and am a little out of touch with current events, and yeah, since I cancelled cable and newspaper, and made Google my home page, I don’t even get a fleeting glimpse of what’s going on, except what I see on the television screen in my office’s lobby. (To be fair, so you don’t think me a complete philistine, for work I follow a lot of blogs/mediums that cover global and economic news, so I know what’s going on in a global, big picture sense, but U.S. popular culture? Not so much.) But when I catch headlines like “so and so calls for Obama to resign over Beyonce’s lip-synching” and whatever the hell is going on with the football player and his girlfriend/not girlfriend for DAYS, it keeps coming up over and OVER again….What the hell, people? Who even CARES about some football player’s delusional girlfriend or some girlfriend’s delusional football player…and newsflash, your musical tastes are so bad that you have popularized people who actually can’t really SING without ginormous amounts of technology, so don’t get yer tits in a wad when they need to use that technology to sing. It’s not like you paid to go to concert, for crying out loud. Autotune presages the death of a civilization. I’m sure one day that will be in a history book. Or what passes for a history book at that future time.
Okay, so the past two weeks have been all about painting the kitchen. First – it’s the only room in the house I never painted when we moved in. First because we were going to re-do it, which we did, but much later than we intended. Then, in the middle of doing it, we split up, and I was loathe to put any more money/time into it if I weren’t going to be living in it. And then, I was divorced, starting over, fairly destitute, and didn’t have the money to pay anyone to do the final stage, which was removing some godawful molding and putting in new drywall. Wait, this will make it easier to understand how I could spend two weeks patching, spackling, caulking and sanding. When they tore down a wall and made the back bedroom into the back half of the kitchen, they put up new dry wall…but in two place the drywall sheets were about six inches apart from each other. So, rather than cut the drywall sheets to fit, they just put molding over the places where the drywall didn’t meet. Yes. Yes, they did. Which I found out when I started to take the molding down myself a couple of years ago. And since then, it’s been one much more vital home improvement task after another, until finally this fall I buckled down and paid someone to come in and fix it. Now, finally time to paint. But first, sanding the walls because the expletives before me did sponge painting with semi-gloss on flat paint, and spongepainted to cover over the craptastic drywall job they did in the first place. Plus, they had expletive nailed up everywhere. I went through buckets of spackle. And the windows had never been caulked. And the counters needed to be re-caulked. And I started to get carried away and learn how to repair drywall…so that was days of acquiring the right tools and practicing. And doing. And then sanding. And then deciding that I’m better at it now, so lemme fix that patch I did earlier and…well, really to fix that properly, I should have chiseled out that section and started fresh with joint compound and….until finally I realized that I was either going to have to tear out all the drywall in the entire room, including the ceiling, so that it would be PERFECT, or I needed to back away from the repairs, accept that it was better than before, but far from perfect but at this rate the rest of the house would crumble around me if I knock it off.
Which is why it took me two weeks to get the point where the ceiling is finally done – and it looks fabulous, although that’s always the disappointing thing about ceilings, I’m probably the only person in the world who realizes how much better it looks, since honestly if I think about the last several houses I’ve been in, I’ve come away with absolutely no remembrance of the condition of their ceilings. Sigh. And now I’ve got to prime the walls. And then paint. I love to paint, actually – it’s as creative as I can seem to manage, like coloring within the lines. I’m old school…there’s no tarping (unless it’s furniture that can’t be moved or carpeting) and no taping for edging. Screw it, it’s me and my brush and a damp rag, in case I screw up. (For the record, and for those of you who saw the exchange on facebook, there is also paint rollers and extension handles. For expletive’s sake. Duh. But that’s easy. It’s the edging and cutting in that can be a challenge and I’m pretty good…for someone with poor eyesight, carpal tunnel, and muscle spasms.
But I am concerned. The paint cans have been sitting in my living room for about a week now and I was passing by and thought ah, for pity’s sake, who’s pooped on the paint cans (ZombieGeezerCat being the prime suspect since at her advanced age she doesn’t poop so much as just have stuff fall out of her body when she walks) and then I realized that it was just the little spot/smear they make on the top of your paint can to show you the tint. Which is when I thought to myself, aw, man, I’m about to paint my entire kitchen poop-brown.