Cellar dweller.

It's been very cold for several weeks now -- really, since winter began. Usually we get a few warm spells in the winter here in the Hudson Valley. We'll have a couple of wind-blasted days of misery, ice and snow, the usual, but then a few days in the forties to kind of reset, melt some of the snirt, and wash off some salt with a little rain, before it's back to the cooler. Not this winter. One below-freezing day after another. Regularly colder here than in Anchorage. 

So my basement, which I never finished nor cared to, remains chilly. 

Unfortunately I have a lot to do down there. 

Artist's depiction of my cellar

As the Great Lileks is doing, we are aiming to get the house ready to show. This has meant a number of steps, all challenging, like:

• Paint the porch -- a frantic job done in late October before winter hit
• Spray wash the siding -- reluctantly accepted this recommendation, but it made the house look like new
• Dumpster rental -- frantic tossing of decades of old stuff
• Large item removal -- old fridge in cellar, book shelves
• New carpeting -- another great idea, painfully expensive, and made for one exceptionally stressful day for us and the dog
• Professional deep clean -- this also was nice, but I'm not used to strangers cleaning up after me
• Prepare for real estate photographer -- frantic removal of all personal effects and making rooms look like hotel rooms

And now:

YOU ARE HERE →🞋←

And here means getting ready for showtime. 

The problem is that all those other steps resulted in box after box of things going into the cellar, with no time to arrange them. That was okay to this point, as the photographer wasn't going to bother with pictures of the basement or garage. But NOW, we have to make the clutter neat. And this is where I am today. 

It's all for the good, but man, I am tired, and I am cold down in the cellar. I hear it's warmer down south, and they don't bother putting cellars in houses. I think that's where we'll go. Any suggestions? 

Things I done seen.

Now that the weather is getting cooler, my big hairy dogs are more up for going for walks. In fact, Friday morning we had blustering winds and near-freezing temperatures and they were thrilled. The humans in the house less so, but what do we know.

Anyway, here's a few things I saw on some recent outings.

Went out the door Thursday morning to the first frost of the season. All the shingles on all the roofs had gone from black or gray to white. It was like the whole block got old. But the first frost is pretty, and wakes you up. That morning was 31 degrees and not too bad. The following morning was 37 but with a wind that wanted to peel the flesh from your hinder. So Friday felt a lot worse.

"It's not a meter. Why would you think it's a meter? It's a... a chipmunk house. Yeah, that's right.”

You get a feeling that this wheelbarrow is a little, shall we say, overmatched?

It's crying out for a meme. Of course the line from Jaws popped into my head first, but then I settled on:

Now, from the Salacious Art of the Innocents collection, we have Harvey Weinstein starring in My Life as a Dog.

I'm not sure if this was inspired by the famous Coppertone ad, but there's something a little wrong about this thing.

Little girl showing her drawers...

...followed by pup with a kind of peculiar look on his face. He's up to something.

I'm sorry, but I don't see a good way to interpret this.

Finally, here's one that I at first thought was some kind of Halloween decoration, but turned out to just be broken:

So. We have two childlike lovers on a bench, and she leans in for a kiss... and she'll never get it because his head is broken off. There's about half a lip left of him. Hardly seems like she'll get the kiss she's hoping for.

I hate to get all Judgey McJudgeyface on these homeowners, but you gotta 1) get your meter on the side of the house like a normal person; 2) cut the wood before you load it into the comically small wheelbarrow; 3) get rid of the girl with the bloomers and the lascivious puppy; and 4) absolutely get rid of the kissing girl and her headless beau.

That only leaves the frost. The frost is okay.

Objet d'arf.

The little pup is doing better today following Sunday night's diarrhea panorama, thanks for the kind thoughts and notes. The vet didn't find anything too awful, nothing that had to be removed except some more money from my wallet, nothing that a good puppy antibiotic wouldn't eventually help. So our little guy is getting better, but it's taking longer than I might have hoped. He did sleep through Monday night, which was a minor miracle.

When your beloved woofy needs something, you immediately think of the vet or the store. Since he was really sick, the vet was the only choice; you lose a lot of options when the patient can't tell you what hurts where and when it started.

Our local PetSmart has a couple of aisles of stuff that can be used for you to play home vet. When Tralfaz was a puppy he really enjoyed eating his own poop, which I wanted to discourage as quickly as possible. For a brief time he was on a mission of coprophagia; if some of his product had not been picked up yet from the previous visit, it was Snack City! So I tried a chewable tablet that was supposed to discourage that behavior.

It worked brilliantly. Too much so, in fact. He would bolt from his own feces after that, taking off like a rocket when it was deposited, and it appeared that that caused him to stop expressing himself. If your dog has done this, you know how unpleasant it is. When I stopped giving him the tablets, he rediscovered self-expression. Fortunately he had pretty much outgrown the poop cuisine by then.

Dog products are always hit-and-miss, often because of your particular circumstance. We got one of those superlong training leashes for the big guy at one point, and when we weren't using it anymore for training we left it tied to the porch for those times he would be out there on his own. One day, in fact, I left the big galoot out there for a few minutes while I tended to a quick errand up the block. When he saw me coming down the driveway, he bolted off the porch with excitement. Then this happened:

When the clip snapped like that and half of it went flying---the rest of it has never been found---we both just stopped and looked at each other, like "Whuuuuuuh?" So I was able to corral him.

Interesting that the fabric and the stitching proved tougher than the metal.

Another item we got because of the dogs was this:

The Dog Gone Smart runner is designed to soak up water from your soggy doggy and protect your floors. It is the most incredible product I have ever seen at soaking up moisture. It works exactly as advertised.

However, in its standard usage it gets really dirty, even more so when someone in the house who shall remain nameless (Nipper) has a massive case of diarrhea and lets it fly on the mat while on the way to the front door. The runner is machine washable---although in case of poop you're gonna want to hose it off first---and the problem is all that water it soaks up. It claims to absorb up to 15 times its own weight in water, and I believe it. It weighs four pounds dry. After it gets through the washing machine it is about 60 sopping pounds---the spin cycle does nothing to get the water out, or very close to nothing, and even our heavy-duty washer goes wobbly with that kind of weight in it. You have to hang it to dry; you couldn't put it in the dryer in this shape anyway, even if your dryer can handle a load that heavy. And it does not lose all that moisture quickly. A simple clothesline may not be strong enough. And it's been raining a lot here.

The runner does exactly as it is said to do, but it is not easy to clean in my experience.

So these are some things we have found that are effective, but not without comical drawbacks. Poor puppies! How do they survive our attempts to help?!

We should get more can openers.

Or do you think we have enough can openers?

What we have here is the result of two bad traits from the people in a marriage coming together to make a mess. The traits are my wife's lack of desire to shop for tools, and my packrat-itis.

Allow me to introduce the members of the cast, from left to right:

Red knob: This was a cheapo opener I got from the supermarket because my wife complained that the three can openers we had were either dangerous or dull. It was less than five bucks and it worked exactly as you might think. I got it at the supermarket because our Linens 'N Things closed in 2008. I didn't want to make a special trip. It's awkward and hard to turn. My wife, needless to say, still had reason to complain after I brought it home.

Flat Oxo: This smooth-edge Oxo can opener slices the top off the can so that the wheel blade and the can exterior never touch the food. Claims also to not leave dangerous edges. My wife cut herself while using it.

Normal Oxo: A standard but soft-handled can opener, this one served us well until the wheel blade got dull. How do you sharpen that? Like this: Send your husband to the store for a new one.

Expensive Le Creuset: Annoyed by my failure to procure a good, non-dangerous can opener, I made a special trip. The Revolution, with its Commie red handle, is $30, so it's not exactly a tool for the proletariat. I got it at a Le Creuset outlet, which sold it for not one penny less than is charged in stores or online. All that said, it's an excellent tool, and it has a great bottle opener, unlike the crappy bottle openers on the side that traditional can openers have. Too bad I almost never need a bottle opener, but you could hang it on a nail.

Traditional can opener: Despite the crappy bottle opener on the side, the traditional can opener was around for so long that I can't remember when or where we got it. Maybe Linens 'N Things. Good grip, smooth operation. But the wheel got dull, and again, how do you sharpen these things?

After this review, I fought down my packrat-itis and pitched the old Oxo and the old traditional can opener. The cheapo one is being kept to open dog food. The smooth-edge Oxo is good for refried or baked beans or jellied cranberry sauce, where a good cut on the can makes it easier to procure a slab o' beans or tube o' cranberries in the shape of the can. Le Creuset is, of course, the go-to can opener for everything else.

Viva le Revolution!

Fred promotes unity.

A friend of mine mentioned that she'd been looking at a catalog that had a jacket with an amazing number of pockets. Being a woman who carries many things, and has children, she was attracted to this idea. 

I don't know what jacket exactly it was, but perhaps it was like this vest/jacket combo below:

The SeV System 8.0 from SCOTTeVEST, with a total of 39 pockets. A steal at $300, if you can find your wallet.

I like pockets. Perhaps more than most guys. Even before we were all welded to our cell phones, I needed pockets for cigarettes and lighters (though not anymore), keys, wallet, pens, coins, notebooks, lucky items, memorabilia, and miscellaneous doodads. So I completely understand my friend's desire for a jacket with tons of pockets.

That said, I cautioned her against giving into the pocket obsession. I pointed out that what it usually meant was precious moments patting yourself down like a self-arresting perp while trying to find your car keys in the rain. Whatever she wanted would always be lost in a pocket on the side of the coat on which she was carrying a heavy shopping bag. I said that a couple of large pockets were better than a zillion tiny ones, because it would limit the number of choices necessary before the start of the search.

She admitted that my description was accurate, as she was as disorganized as I am. She added with a sigh that her husband was nothing like that. He had, in fact, become a compulsive labeler, slapping little labels on all the drawers and cabinets in the house to indicate what was inside.

I then revised my opinion conditionally. I said that if she were to get a coat of many pockets that could be labeled, then she and her husband might spend many happy hours labeling the pockets with whatever she wanted the pockets to contain, and if she were good about following the labels, she would never be caught out searching for what she wanted. It might seem silly at first to have a bunch of labels on the outerwear, but that it never seems to bother NASCAR drivers. I said that this would make the pockets useful, rather than puzzling, and would give her and her husband a lovely project to complete together. They could debate whether the labels would be best right side up, or perhaps upside down, so she could read them while looking down at the jacket, or perhaps sideways if that would help the labels fit better. They could decide as a couple whether alphanumeric codes might be best, considering that there would be very small pockets; this also had the benefit of disguising the contents, as revealing the contents in plain language might encourage thievery. And if colored labels could be made, that brought in a whole new world of coordination and themes. A project like this could promote togetherness as well as fashion sense.

Because Fred is a romantic, and believes in promoting unity within the family. Feel free to ask me your questions, and I will provide the benefit of my wisdom.

Craptiques Roadshow.

We were watching Antiques Roadshow last night on PBS---yes, while we were sipping fair-trade espresso and nibbling artisan plaquettes de chocolat---when my lovely Mrs. expressed a desire to see someone come up with something that was just a piece of garbage.

"My great-grandfather bought it off the streets of Queens for a nickel in 1902."

"I'd say at auction this might fetch as much as... a dime. So it's doubled in value."

"Just a dime? Why, is it fake?"

"No, it's just a piece of crap. It's ugly, it's useless --- this may be the least collectible object we've ever had on the Roadshow."

I love the people who think that, because one of the experts have brought them over to sit in front of the cameras, the kids' college and their retirement are all set. Almost any figure the appraiser mentions is disappointing.

James Wrorthringtron, Wrorthringtron & Wrorthringtron Collectibles, Boston: When I saw you in line with this item, I simply had to have a look at it. Tell me what you have here.

Moe Schlobotnik: It's been in the family since my father bought it in the early seventies on a trip to New York. He brought it home to me and my brothers, and we kept it in the living room. When he died, I wrested it away from the jackals in the family. I've treasured it ever since.

JW: We see a lot of foam fingers in our boutique, but this is a prime example of the very first middle-finger variation, known in the trade as the Frankenham University F.U. 

MS: It's pretty impressive. Great conversation piece.

JW: These were made by the Glapmurtz Novelty Company for sale on the campus starting in August 1972, and ceased in September 1972 when the college confiscated them all and Glapmurtz went bankrupt. A precious few survived the purge.

MS: Kinda... rare, then, would you say?

JW: Oh, yes, possibly no more than fifteen others around of the hundreds manufactured. And you see there's very little damage, just some cracking here around the edges, and a little discoloration. It looks like someone's had it in a barbecue smoker for a month.

MS: Nah, Dad just loved his Old Golds. 

JW: That's a typical patina for this sort of thing. 

MS: So, er, what...?

JW: Is it worth? Well, I have to say, the market for these is very hot right now.

MS: It is, huh? [smiling]

JW: Yes, I've seen one go at auction just a couple of months ago for forty dollars!

MS: Forty... Dollars? [not so much smiling]

JW: Yes, and who knows? Sports collectibles being what they are, it could reach a hundred within a few years. 

MS: Oh.

JW: Thank you so much for bringing this in; it's a great piece of Americana.

MS: Right. 

Focus on foam finger. Across the bottom of the screen: 1970s Frankenham University Naughty Foam Finger: $40-$100.

I think there are some long, quiet drives home from the Roadshow.

Key's keys.

Ever come across one of these?

Yep---mystery key.

Why does this keep happening??!?!?

Is what I'd have said as a youth, when the junk drawer in our ancestral home kept filling with keys to which there seemed to be no locks. I thought it was fate, mocking our family name, but eventually I discovered that it happened to every homeowner. 

A key without a lock may seem like a spirit separated from its body, and yet it's not as bad as a lock without a key. That could get you in a real jam. A lock without a key is a problem; a key without a lock is a nuisance. 

Why is a solo key a nuisance? My example is the one above, which I found in a very little-used drawer. It's a Kwikset; that's my only clue. The tag was blank. I know we've replaced several locks---was this one? 

I basically have three choices: 

1) Throw it away and hope it doesn't fit a lock where it might come in handy (even though that clearly has not happened in more than a decade); 

2) Try every lock in the house and see if it works on any of them, and if so, label it correctly; 

3) Put it back in the drawer and forget about it for another 10 years. 

Give ya one guess!

And there it shall probably sit, until I lose something again that brings me to the Mystery Drawer of Hidden Delights, or until we move, whichever comes first. If we move I will probably be forced to check every lock in the house with the key as a service to the new owners, and then throw it away because we got rid of its lock twenty years before. 

The secret is out!

Jim Wright, call your office!