83 bags of concrete later...

I should have hired a concrete mixer.

Instead, I just called up Mr. Patrick Hutton, and five hours later I now have a concrete driveway upon which to lay my Cougar.

Technically, we only did 51 bags today; the other 32 were used for the side room (where the fan is sitting). But 51 x 80lb bags is like literally two tons worth of mixing, dumping, and spreading. No wonder my back hurts.


Remember the Cougar? I'm sure you guys do. I found it buried under a mountain of crap my dad had stacked atop it. So I pushed it out, called up Pat, and together we realized a dream I have had as long as I've had my gentleman's muscle car.

You guys might not be too excited about this, but I am. Not only do I have a driveway, but the framework for my room is finally starting to take shape.

This might actually happen sooner than I thought.

Make no mistake, I have a long, long way to go. Even when my room is finished, the garage still needs a whole lot more organization, the yard is a mess, my father's shed is held up only by the sheer amount of stuff piled within. So yes, I have plenty left to keep me busy. But I think I will celebrate by conquering Prussia. I already had way too much to drink this week (just ask Pat and his cousin Kevin).

Maybe I'll find more time for this blog too.

Progress?

I just want to preface this post by saying I love my dad.

But I hate the Cavern of Crap that has become my basement.

Five or six years ago, we filled an industrial-size dumpster with all sorts of garbage he mostly brought home from the dump. My dad just can't pass up anything free that might, some day, some where, be useful, or usable. We may have actually thrown away some cool shit back in "the day". But now, most of it is just filler, and there isn't enough room to do more than move things around at this point.

So don't believe this picture that makes it look like I accomplished something today. It looks nice, but it is all lies.

I just moved some things around, organized a little, and vacuumed up one of many layers of sawdust that I'm sure will reappear tomorrow.

It always does.

I spent most of the day writing and driving around trying to find Por15 rust-preventative paint for my Jeep (fail), a new cell phone (fail), and an air card (Verizon fail x2).

But in the short time I was in the basement, I did find something, sort of interesting, but mostly puzzling. It's an ammo box for a machine gun of some sort. I think. But where the hell did my dad get an ammo box?

He was never in the military, and I don't think anyone in their right mind would let my dad near a machine gun. It is too rusted to be sure, but there are a few yellow numbers on the side that look sorta military-ish.

Anyway, there is lots of other, more interesting, weird, old stuff I am going to start catalogging. I have to do something to keep what little sanity the penguins haven't already stolen from me.

Dooooby, dooby doo...

Opening Salvo

I dove head first into this project, and very nearly broke my neck. More than once. There are so many pitfalls and most of the items are precariously balanced against one another, so that moving the wrong piece are the wrong time at best results in a large sliver or gash, at worst, decapitation. It's almost like a life-size Jenga puzzle.

I have approached it as such, by first cleaning out the area I will soon inhabit. I have some some preliminary work, like setting up shelving and scaffolding (to serve as temporary shelving) both inside and out. But once this room is set up, I can stop sleeping on the floor. That was this weekends accomplishment. Tonight, I moved some more wood around and cleaned out the tool kit. After all, I must have access to the tools I need if I am going to make this easy. So a lot of this work is going to be organizing.

Expect more daily posts with photos to kept track of my progress, for now, this. It's a start.

Hanging up the party boots, putting on the work boots

In a room to my right, the past five years of my life are stacked and packed together, and my old apartment is all but empty. I never knew I had so much crap, but like my dad I don't really throw anything away so I guess its no surprise. But it all looks so small packed up, and it just made me think that up until this point, I haven't left much of a mark on the world, not even enough to fill up a small room.

So it is a good time to move on with my life, hang up my party boots, and get all existential up in this bitch. I spent most of today running around, on the phone, interviewing a guy with a 600k mile Mustang, finishing some freelance newspaper
article, and trying to set up something interesting
for the Syracuse Nationals car show. I love this work. I am much more motivated when it comes to working for myself, something about doing work I enjoy and can actually see the results for myself.

But I've also had a chance to do a lot of reflecting on the ridiculous bullshit I've witnessed that is just too strange for fiction. Like waking up on my last Sunday morning to find a confused Irish man without a shirt sitting on a couch in the basement after a party. I could hardly understand him but I did manage to get that he had no idea where he was, and we had no idea who he was either.

Or the time Walsh attacked a Christmas tree that was staring at him funny.

Speaking of Christmas, how about ornaments made from beer cans.

Bedroom doors perforated with ninja stars.

Twelve minute stomping contests.

Obnoxious yelling at all hours of the night.

Who wants to do a shot?

Notorious C.A.T.

Sketchy beer pong tournaments.

All good memories come from bad decisions.

Amen.