Chapter 1: Less Than Mind-Bloggeling Thoughts

Swami or Salami

I think my dad is an Italian swami (that's swami, not salami...although lately I've been eating a lot of salami). I've come to this conclusion after living with him for the last 2 months (the spouse and I are in the middle of moving... so we made a temporary lay-over at my dad's).

Here's the deal:

Every night...without fail... after dinner (dinner time is flagged by the sound of "Bad boys...bad boys ... watcha gonna do...watcha gonna do when they come for you..." filtering through the family room), he goes outside and, well, stares...at his garden. I think he is pondering the meaning of life... the truth behind the Great Pyramids of Egypt and who shot JFK... the real location of Jimmy Hoffa...and the secrets to growing healthy tomatoes and zucchini.

My husband and I stare at him staring at his garden ... perhaps someone stares at us staring at him staring at his garden. It's very intriguing. What is he thinking about?

What's funny is that, if you look up and down the backyards on his street, you see the other Italians doing the same...staring at their gardens. I'm reminded of a song: "The Freaks Come Out At Night" as a herd of Italians roams the backyards.

Somehow, they are in harmony with nature...staring as one large Italian entity. Perhaps they talk Vegetable-ese... perhaps that's why my dad's zucchinis are huge (no Freudian comments, please)... and you should see the size of his cornstalks! Damn can that man grow some ears!

I sometimes hear them humming the Tarentella softly or singing songs such as "Arrivaderci, Roma", "That's Amore", "Me So Horny". They are truly connected.

And then...just as suddenly as it began...it stops. They all migrate back to their houses, perhaps for one more bowl of pasta or one more glass of vino...the connection breaks... and my dad yells out to me, "JoAHNNE! Whaddayagotdatssweet!" Apple pie and ice cream time.

posted by Joanne @ 9:54 AM 0 comments

I’m Seeing Red

After almost 15 years living surrounded by white walls (which, considering my mental state … and my husband’s… white walls are quite fitting), I decided to get adventurous and choose an actual color for my kitchen: a deep burgundy (the actual color is vin-something-or-other...diesel?).

I should've known I'd be in for trouble when I got the paint at Home Depot. First of all, the girl who was taking care of me opens the can to add the dye/pigments, and she spills some of the paint all over the counter. A sign of trouble to come? Then, after she mixes the paint, she shows me the color and it's...well... purple.

OK - the manager who's working with the girl tells me that's normal for reds/burgundys. What he FAILED to tell me is that you have to prime the walls with a grey-tinted primer. This is so key!

So I go home to my white-primed walls and start rolling on the paint because I'm so excited to erase all signs of white, and I end up with walls that look like a bottle of cheap red wine exploded all over them (which might be ok since I will probably be sucking down a lot of wine to blur my vision so my walls look better).

The spouse and I are now 5 coats deep… on top of 2 coats of white primer….and going in deeper…By the time we’re done painting, the walls should be about 6 inches thicker than they were before we started.

I shoulda just left the walls white and slapped "REDRUM" across 'em to add a splash of color instead of going the whole 9-yards. Baby steps.

(I love this quote that someone posted on some site where some people were "seeing red" like me: "Everyone knows that reds are hard because they require so much pigment." Sure... everyone knows... and everyone knows a know-it-all will get his face slapped with a red-paint-coated paintbrush...)

posted by Joanne @ 1:53 PM 0 comments