Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Since last time I posted -
****
Not that the demand for info on my doings is overwhelming, but...
I am unemployed. By choice, but jobless nonetheless. I had grown stale in my job and decided to take a month off to do some long-neglected work around the home 20.
My first project is to run electricity out to the garage, wire the garage, insulate and drywall and generally make the place liveable. Step one of the project is to dig a 40 foot trench - 32" deep - from the house to the garage, which I determined to do with manual excavating equipment.
Hello trencher and shovel. Hello pain.
I looked at this as an opportunity to begin getting my body into some semblence of shape. I'm here to tell ya: I'm definitely built for comfort, not speed. If my life depended on my ability to quickly entrench or dig a foxhole, I'd be dead. I have all the respect in the world for the soldier who could march 20 miles and throw up a defensive works before sack time.
And yet, I persevere. The trench is dug. Parts of me ache I had forgotten existed, but there will be lights, telephone, cable and heat and A/C in my favorite outbuilding, which will thereafter be declared off limits to the womenfolk and become official home of the hoosiertoo chapter of the He-Man Woman Haters Club.
Not that I have anything against women; my favorite fantasies involve two or more.
A man's garage is his refuge and if it has a properly stocked refrigerator and a respectable entertainment center and DSL a garage can be a comfortable hideaway.
There's something almost magical about the distance from the kitchen door to the garage. It seems to take a nearly Herculean effort for the missus to get to the garage from the house and if the the weather is the least inclement, it is well-nigh impossible to make the journey. I heartily recommend a detached garage to any man - even if you have an attached garage already.
An attached garage is really just an extension of her domain.
Not that the demand for info on my doings is overwhelming, but...
I am unemployed. By choice, but jobless nonetheless. I had grown stale in my job and decided to take a month off to do some long-neglected work around the home 20.
My first project is to run electricity out to the garage, wire the garage, insulate and drywall and generally make the place liveable. Step one of the project is to dig a 40 foot trench - 32" deep - from the house to the garage, which I determined to do with manual excavating equipment.
Hello trencher and shovel. Hello pain.
I looked at this as an opportunity to begin getting my body into some semblence of shape. I'm here to tell ya: I'm definitely built for comfort, not speed. If my life depended on my ability to quickly entrench or dig a foxhole, I'd be dead. I have all the respect in the world for the soldier who could march 20 miles and throw up a defensive works before sack time.
And yet, I persevere. The trench is dug. Parts of me ache I had forgotten existed, but there will be lights, telephone, cable and heat and A/C in my favorite outbuilding, which will thereafter be declared off limits to the womenfolk and become official home of the hoosiertoo chapter of the He-Man Woman Haters Club.
Not that I have anything against women; my favorite fantasies involve two or more.
A man's garage is his refuge and if it has a properly stocked refrigerator and a respectable entertainment center and DSL a garage can be a comfortable hideaway.
There's something almost magical about the distance from the kitchen door to the garage. It seems to take a nearly Herculean effort for the missus to get to the garage from the house and if the the weather is the least inclement, it is well-nigh impossible to make the journey. I heartily recommend a detached garage to any man - even if you have an attached garage already.
An attached garage is really just an extension of her domain.
Labels: blather
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