I'm driving to Buffalo today to pick up that pool table light. I'm starting to think I'm just deliberately making this project more difficult than it has to be. It's starting to feel like there will never be a pool table in this shed. It's not like it has to be difficult; but the pool table I want costs $5,000 and another $2,000 for delivery and installation once all is said and done. It's as decisively and emphatically out of reach as that medium-format Fuji. I'm trying to do everything on a budget which greatly complicates the project.
My mother had a dachshund once whose name was Wolfgang. Wolfgang was not an ordinary dog—he was a miniature long-hair silver-dapple dachshund (meaning his coat was black and brown and silvery gray) who had one brown eye and one blue eye. He thought he was Napoleon—he would get in the faces of Great Danes and German Shepherds and bark furiously until the big dogs backed down. To paraphrase Thea Berg, other dogs had bigger sticks but Wolfie swung his harder. Anyway Wolfgang would drive us crazy by barking whenever his ball got stuck under the radiator. He'd whine and whimper and "dig" furiously trying to get the ball out. Finally it occurred to me to wonder why his ball always seemed to get stuck under the same spot, so I followed him around one day. He went here and there, nosed the ball away from him and chased it, settled down to gnaw on it for a while—and then he trotted over to the radiator, set the ball down, and deliberately rolled it with his nose to where he couldn't get it. Then he promptly began worrying it, barking, scratching, and whining. Funny!
Maybe that's me. Who drives four hours in the car to get a pool table light? I'm not even going to save any money on it when all is said and done. Anyway, here's the Wolfgang aspect of today's mission: we're setting out for a two-hour-plus drive West without knowing whether the light is going to fit inside the car. Why do I do stuff like this to myself?
Happy about a heater
Here's the latest on the shed: The drywall is all done and looks fantastic. The walls are going to be the spiffiest feature of the room, as befits their status as the basis for the photography exhibit. The electrical got finished up yesterday too—all the outlets got dug out of the plaster, spacers installed for depth, and the new covers on (I don't know what the damned things are called and maybe there isn't even a name for them—the plates that surround switches and outlets on the wall). The eight-foot baseboard heating unit was installed—with two coats of paint behind and underneath it—and the thermostat went in. You've never seen a guy happier about a heater. I love it.
So—progress. Hopefully, the next thing you'll see is a photograph of the undamaged pool table light, hung on a fan box and emanating photons. Baby steps. Wish me luck.
Mike
UPDATE later that same day.... The mission went splendidly and without a hitch. My friend Eric consented to use his truck (thanks Eric), a humongous vehicle with a 5-liter V8 that can accommodate a large riding mower, and anyway the pool table light would have fit in my car. It took us only four hours, plus a few minutes for stops, and it was great to have company along the way. The pool table light exceeds my expectations—it's really very nice and the quality is excellent. The seller said it cost $540 new, and I paid her asking price of $150. Next step will be to get it installed. Then I'll suck it up and motivate myself to begin the painting.
But right now ah'm tarred, as they say in the South.
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Featured Comments from:
Robert Roaldi: "I've driven farther for good cheese and cappuccino. What you're doing make total sense. Are we going to get a post about the different kinds of billiard balls they make? I assume that as with everything else, there are all kinds of choices."
Mike replies: Your wish is my command. I'll put it on the list.
Patrick Dodds: "Re 'Anyway, here's the Wolfgang aspect of today's mission: we're setting out for a two-hour-plus drive West without knowing whether the light is going to fit inside the car. Why do I do stuff like this to myself?' This made me laugh harder than anything I've ever read here before. Thank you. Worthy of James Thurber himself."
Kefyn Moss: "The cover around a light switch is called an escutcheon plate."
Tom Burke: "In the UK the front of an electrical socket is known as the face plate."
Ben Rosengart: "They're called switch plates."
Malcolm Leader (partial comment): "They're simply called coverplates."
Mike replies: You see the problem!
Steve Rosenblum: "Jeez, I go for long drives just to get out of the house during the pandemic and I have no other goal in mind!"
Mike replies: ...In your new Tesla! I might go on long drives too...
My favorite story about aimless drives comes from a book in a series called "Witness" by Lee Friedlander about his and Maria's friend the sculptor Raoul Hague, who made giant abstract wooden sculptures out of sections of large trees. Seems Raoul would head off on a journey but get distracted by curiosity and aesthetic promise at every turn and crossroad, and he would simply follow whatever path looked more promising in terms of things to see. In so doing he would get hopelessly lost and couldn't find his way back home. In his later years this problem was solved by his friends who made a rule that whenever Raoul went driving someone else had to go along. It was this second person's responsibility to navigate and keep track of where in the heck they were, so they stood a chance of finding their way back. All in the era long before GPS, of course.