Our bathr0om renovation started out gangbusters. On the first day, our old bathroom got ripped out, tub and all in about two hours. The next day we got an old chimney stack removed to reclaim a bunch of space, a fan installed, new plumbing and new electrical. It was a bit of a circus with four men at work in our 5′ x 9′ bathroom at the same time.
Since then, it was stalled a bit — thanks to suppliers shipping the wrong stuff or just not shipping the right stuff. However, our very patient general contractor has scheduled himself elsewhere while we wait and has still managed to come by every day to work at some small task. (I think he comes for the good coffee and grilled cheese sandwiches.) As of today, we have a functional bath tub (no splashing allowed), a light, a fan and grouted floor tiles, which all looks great. Our counter arrived today and will go in tomorrow. We still await wall tiles’ arrival, at which point it’s onward to the finish line.
We know we don’t update this blog as often as we should. We hope this kind of entry makes up for it. Mark decided to try using iMovie for the first time and neither of us could think of anything more fun to put together than all our little movies of the babes bustin’ moves around the house.
Track credits:
Royal House / Todd Terry “Can you party”
Maestro Fresh-Wes “Let your backbone slide”
Latin Fresh “Bata bata” (a house favourite, but I probably don’t want to know how the lyrics translate)
Our bathroom renovation started last Wednesday. While I have yet to publish photos of the daily progress, I have “the before” shot above. I think it demonstrates how this stylistically schizophrenic bathroom might cry out for attention. We were initially happy to live with it for a year or two as is but when push came to shove, we were happy to turn up the hate and schedule its demolition. With everything planned for the new bathroom, we look forward to an updated and much more kid-friendly space. Progress photos to come.
After posting the B-side of my vintage happy hardcore mix yesterday, I figured it’s only proper (if less than chronological) to post Side A.
That’s right: more happy hardcore! You’re welcome.
Happy hardcore still kicks so much asinine.
I dusted off this mix I made (way back in the day) along with a few similar sets, for our long drive west this summer. These discs came in handy for keeping us awake behind the wheel, although the wee ones found them decidedly offensive. (Not that we played them at proper big-room volume.)
For us in the front seats, the sound brought back a fine rush: memories of Hullaballoo, and parties where it was totally normal to dress up like a robot, a Canada flag, or a cartoon, though Hallowe’en might be months away.
But don’t blame us for being sappy; blame the music. When this sound broke in the late 1990s, it was designed, even then, as an unapologetic soundtrack for nostalgia, gospel music for fundamentalist ravers (heavy on the mental). So how can it help but hold up well over the years?
All unrepentant Vicks and glowsticks crew: throw your silly white gloves up for the anthems!
Topping our Right Away List of home improvments was replacing the forty-five-year-old the furnace (despite its possible antique value). As we started calling around to book estimates for this project, we quickly had to add something else to our list: asbestos removal.
The presence of the asbestos duct tape was not a surprise. Our house inspector noted it right away. He assured us that as long as we left it alone, it would not be an problem. What he failed to put together was that replacing the furnace would not qualify as “leaving it alone”. So, as we started to line up furnace estimates, we also had to have the asbestos people in.
These quotes varied widely. A few people made it seems fairly straightforward and low-risk. One fellow listed a tome of paperwork (permits and disposal manifests), equipment rentals and a massive undertaking of cleansuits, airlocks, etc. (It turns out he was building up the process to justify charging three times more.)
So, today was Asbestos Day. The rather unassuming fellow arrived early in his pick-up truck, looking much like any dusty tradesman might in jeans and running shoes. His casual manner was truly at odds with the pile of paperwork he handed me, describing procedures and listing our permits. I will never really know if he transformed into some sort of Hazmat Superhero downstairs in our basement. The caution tape kept me out and he stayed downstairs, locked in his “negative airflow” enviroment for several hours, emerging with a whistle and a smile only to carry the bags out and wave goodbye.
And now, the papers assure me, we are free to move on to the next project.
Our new house was built in 1964, so we knew upon buying it that there would be some work to be done. We have been trying to prioritize the short list of “right away” jobs since we arrived. Topping the list was re-grouting the shower tiles to ensure that no (more) water leaked through the cracking grout to rot the wall. So I started to chip away the old, cracked grout on Saturday, to make way for the new stuff.
Re-grouting is tedious work and it was a bit disgruntling doing it to fix up a bathroom we dislike in so many ways: the tiles are busy with cross-stitched flowers, the tub is pink and chipped, and the vanity too tall and too deep for the space (a misplaced kitchen unit), and the furnace chimney carves out a good chunk of space in the corner. So, with each inch I chipped/dremelled out, I dreamed of being able to just knock out the wall and start from scratch.
A fine crust of rot is what's holding up these yummy tiles.
Well, my wish came true. As the grout came out, the tiles started to drop off. And the wall behind them wasn’t pretty. There is really no remedial solution — the wall needs to be replaced, so, this “down the road” item has jumped lists. And now we add contractors to the parade of people marching through our house to provide estimates (furnace salesmen, asbestos removal people, energy rating inspectors). It’s a party! Who shall we invite next?
First thing yesterday morning, Adot came up from the basement to show me what she’d drawn. This was her first work since we unpacked the art supplies, and it was strikingly different from her usual style.
Now, we knew when we bought our new house that it had belonged to an artist. Turns out that artist was the late Raffaella Montemurro (1941-2008). We think this is worth comment not just because of the house’s abundant character (hand-painted shelves and banisters, a brass charm against the evil eye on the door, etc.), but because of what we found when we Googled Montemurro’s artwork — which we were prompted to do after seeing Adot’s unusual work.
So we invite you to compare these pieces: on the left, Adot’s work from yesterday; on the right, a representative Montemurro that we found online this evening.
Adot, Chis in hach, 2009
Raffaella Montemurro, A Pebble for your Heart said the Bird
We don’t have a TV, but we seem to be getting one channel pretty well…
Today we made a trip to Edmonton’s asteroid belt — one of those outlying areas full of big box stores. We needed the usual post-moving items: a mop, garbage bags, new coffee maker, etc. We headed for the retail cluster, not expecting it to be any different than those in Ontario. These areas are so cookie-cutter that, once inside the big parking lot, dwarfed by inflated storefronts, you could easily forget what city you’re in. However, much to our amusement, Alberta did have something unique to offer.
If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I really wouldn’t believe it: RV camping in the Walmart parking lot! It was a site to behold. These were not just people parked and shopping. Around the outer rim of the lot, the RVs were extended and the lawn chairs were perched in front. At 10 in the morning, it was already 25 degrees out and these people were “camping” in a sea of black asphalt.
At yesterday’s last couple restaurant and gas stops, we noted signs like “ABSOLUTELY NO RV CAMPING”, so this is perhaps the way of the RV camper, the scourge of the TransCanada Highway area. But why? Where’s the outdoor experience? Why leave your driveway only to squat in a store parking lot?
