Sometimes you find yourself at the edge of a body of water, looking down, wondering whether or not you can make it. Your mind weighs the pros and cons - makes measurements as to what will work and what won't. Trajectory. Angle. Your life has come down to this moment. And now it's all about perception, instinct, and skill. And most of the time you come out victorious. Most of the time you are able to bask in the smooth and the flow. But sometimes, despite all your best efforts, you wind up urinating on your scarf.

Let me back up. See, I've got one of those long Gap scarves. When it's not wrapped around my neck, it stretches down past my knees. So when you're standing there at the bowl, it's usually a good idea to throw each side up over your shoulder to avoid any unfortunate accidents. The thing is, it's usually advised that you take this step before the stream of piss begins. The thing is, sometimes you're not as coordinated as you think. The thing is - and this is really the crux of it - sometimes you discover you're somebody who pees on your clothing. And you just have to accept that about yourself and move on.

Okay. Let me back up a little further. Last Friday, we were in a kitchen-and-bath store looking at fixtures. C was already annoyed with me. There was a reason why - there usually is - but I've forgotten what it was. Looking at all those sinks and showers and toilets while drinking coffee made me really have to pee. And when you think about it, could there be a better place to use a bathroom? Just make sure you use the right one. Otherwise you could probably be arrested.

It all happened so fast. It's difficult to put things in their proper order. I do remember there was cursing involved, and warmth and wetness. When I came out of the bathroom, I decided to come clean about what happened to C: "I just urinated on my scarf." Though I've never been on the receiving end of this statement, I'd have to say it probably ranks pretty low on the list of confessions you want to hear uttered from the lips of your spouse. Others might not be so bad. "I've been naughty," for instance. Reaction: Oh, yeah? Do tell . . . "I've been a bad, bad girl." Reaction: GO ON .... "I've peed on my scarf." Reaction: Head shaking, eye rolling. Somehow that one just falls flat, doesn't it? Let's just say C was not amused. At least not at that moment. Later, in the car, we both had a pretty good laugh. But at first, I think the reaction from C was more like disbelief. And a kind of wonderment at the glaring reality which she's been catching glimpses of for the last eight years: somehow, despite all her good upbringing, she wound up marrying a cave man.

Anyway, it happened. The scarf has been washed. End of story.

The real story now is this: (unfortunately, it still has to do with urine) Our bathroom remodel project started yesterday. The contractor has done the first step - which is to tape a bunch of paper to the floor and seal off the doorways with plastic, a futile attempt to help control the white dust that is sure to get everywhere, despite these measures. I'm hoping the plastic will impede the spread of the white dust a little bit, anyway. We'll see.

Anyway, our old fixtures are being removed on Wednesday. The toilet, the bath, everything. We're keeping the toilet and the sink, because they're pretty new, but we're losing the tub. Still, they all need to come out so the contractors can re-tile. So our sink and toilet will be sitting in our entrance for a little over a week (if we're lucky) - just sitting there like strange dada art installations. Duchamp would be proud. And, oh yeah did I mention this bathroom that's being gutted is our only bathroom? Yeah. That's an important point.

There are a number of reasons to have a home. It's a place to put your stuff. It's a place to relax and unwind. It's a place where you know what to expect form the things - animate and inanimate - that populate that space. This could not be more true than when you're talking about your toilet. Or, if you're lucky enough to speak in pluralities, toilets.

We tend to take the toilet for granted. I mean, we always know it will be there in the same place, morning, noon, and night. When we're standing (guys) we know just where to direct our flow - just how to aim. We can do it in the dark. Hell, we could probably do it in our sleep. And when we're sitting, well it just feels cozy and nice against our buns. It's - and I hope I'm not getting too sentimental here - our friend. A really close friend that doesn't mind you pissing on him every once in a while. It's generally the last thing you see before heading to bed and it's the first thing you want to see when you wake up in the morning. Imagine waking up, bladder full of last night's water or beer or soda, and your toilet is gone. It's strange and painful to imagine it not being there. And the cruel part is that our toilet will be there - right in the hallway. But it can't really be it's old self there, can it? Not really. Oh, it'll look and feel the same, but it definitely won't behave the same - no matter how much we wish it were so. I'm just glad I'm not one to sleep-walk.

So for the next week, maybe two, it's going to feel a little bit like camping for us. We'll have running water, but only in our kitchen sink. And the kitchen sink is not really good for showers, or to sit and contemplate life's finer things. But never fear - we have an out house: the superintendent's office apartment in the basement of our building. We'll be using this for necessities, and we'll be grabbing showers at the gym. I'm going to keep a spare bottle nearby in case of emergencies. Oh, and we'll be spending the weekends with friends and family. Thanks, E&M and J&A for taking us in. I promise to remove my scarf.

Oh, and have a look at the Pre-Remodel Gallery.

link to this | comments (6) | File:  Bathroom_Remodel 

I've been thinking about trying the 'Hipster PDA' for some time. I've always had a fondness for 3x5 note cards. I just like the way they look. Go figure. They helped me through college. And now, maybe they'll help me get organized, especially with these nifty templates. Hipster PDA: it's a terrible name but, apart from that, I think it might be worth a try.

link to this | comments (1) | File:  Lifehack 

A strongly-worded article, with good comments, on the iTunes vs Pirating dilemma. I've been annoyed by iTunes low quality sound files for some time. Funny how something can be so great and so sucky at the same time. C'mon Apple!

link to this | comments (1) | File:  iTunes 

A neat little primer on the history of the Web, so far. (via sparkle)

link to this | comments (0) | File:  Web_2_0 

What's wonderful about these people is they're still here. And you love them for that. They're proof that the memories you have of college aren't some strange dream that you just woke up from. You actually were that post-modern, angst-ridden, Cobain-listening, kid with directionless enthusiasm. Who had a flannel shirt for every occasion. Who composed strange lines to friends via the campus PINE system and buzzed off all his hair freshman year to what? Impress? Alienate? Who obsessed over every academic paper he ever wrote and tried to impress his professors with his penchant for irony. Whose favorite thing was to go to campus on Saturday afternoons — when it was empty — and read. Who tried to quit smoking one day by switching to dip and had to lie prone on the colonnade for nearly an hour, sweating and fighting waves of nausea from the resulting nicotine high. Who thought love was something you could script and who almost tossed everything — friendships, grades, self-respect — for someone who had her own desperate affair with self-destruction.

These are people who sat up late with you, sharing their own hopes and dreams and fears and desires. These are people who had your back, whether you knew it or not. In fact, these are people who quite literally took care of you when your back went completely out.

And what's magical about these people is that they're here today — in your current life — but they also remember someone else — a prior you. And it's someone that in the loud roar of the here and now, you yourself have sort of forgotten. And somehow being with them is like being with that earlier self. The first self you had that wasn't defined by family. A self you've forgotten not because you wanted to, but because that's what you do. You forget.

One way to measure a lifetime is by how much forgetting you do, and how well you do it. Your life can be measured — and defined — by the doors you let close, by the keys you lose. But your long-time friends, they're the link. They always have a spare. And they let you back in from time to time. Like this weekend. And once in a while that's really nice.

link to this | comments (4) | File:  College  Friends 

We've discovered something these last couple of days: Hoshi doesn't do snow. Or ice. She is firmly 'anti' both of these things and refuses to budge. Literally. You can try to argue with her. But you're just going to be spinning your wheels. Again . . . literally. The problem is mostly due to her tires. They're 'high performance,' and when you're talking about snow or ice, this means: really awesome at spinning wildly out of control.

We had a modest dumping of snow on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, which was kind of a fun event for Valentine's day. DC did a great job of plowing the snow to the side, leaving little embankments for cars to push their way out of. This wasn't so bad Wednesday morning, because the snow was still soft and we could easily kick and shovel a little path for the tires. But with ongoing temperatures in the teens overnight Wednesday, the snow quickly became rock hard ice. And I'm telling you, unless you have a blowtorch and a pick-ax handy, that shit doesn't budge. Unfortunately, CVS doesn't sell blowtorches, and the only shovels they sell are made of plastic, which are only handy if you happen to be shoveling cotton balls. Luckily, we prepared for Thursday morning by shoveling snow before things froze overnight. So we were good to go.

Thursday, I had a meeting in Baltimore, and that's where my judgement failed me. The thing is you look at a spot and your common sense says, I can make that. So you start pulling in and by the time you realize you grossly underestimated the condition of the spot (or rather, overestimated your car) it's too late. Yesterday I got stuck for about 30 minutes in a pretty benign looking spot on a Baltimore side-street. My new boots helped. (I bought them for the annual 'man trip' last year, but never got a chance to wear them as I had to cancel. And this year is out due to a trip to Japan. Next year, guys - you'll get to be in awe of my new boots.) Anyway, I was able to break up enough of the ice with the hard toe of my boots to get Hoshi some road to touch. But it was close. And just to let me know how pissed off she was for even putting her in that situation, Hoshi nearly ran out of gas as we sat there spinning. I guess that'll learn me.

link to this | comments (5) | File:  Hoshi 

I've been taking a blog vacation, sipping tall, frozen margaritas on the tar-soiled beach called Indifference. Licking the salt from the glass. Basking in the warm rays. Not posting, not reading. A re-assessment. A re-calibration of the wires - the sparks. A setting things straight.

Of course, vacation implies relaxation. But it's been strenuous stuff, this break. Working my ass off, actually. Days here are profitable, but uninspired. It's tedious: remembering to flip over. Back, then front. An even burn is important. An even burn means you're normal.

A few seconds ago, fancy dropped by for a chat and a cigarette. Barefoot. Wearing loose-fitting white cotton shirt and pants, rippling in the breeze. Big round sunglasses. Straw hat shading her face. She thinks she's so glamorous. She never stays long here. It's not her scene. She reminds me to apply lotion evenly, to wear sunglasses to avoid UV damage, to remember that things aren't what they seem. That there are other places. Then she's gone and I forget. I always forget.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need another drink.

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Ho_Hum 

Could Presently be the next office-like app from Google?

link to this | comments (2) | File:  Google 

First of all, let me say that I thought all Superbowl half-time shows would be forever eclipsed by the heavy flop of Janet Jackson's pasty-clad boob. Not so. Prince has taken back the half-time show in a big way. And he didn't even need to bare any skin. Unlike the football game, which was something of a comedy of errors, Prince's performance was spot-on. He's a pro. I'm not a Prince fan like Laundro is a Prince fan. Still, I like me some Prince every now and again, and Sunday night was one of those times. I've got a particular weakness for the '1999' and 'Purple Rain' era of Prince tunes. They remind me of the little white jam-box I got when I was nine, and Little Red Corvette on the tape deck.

So yeah. Half-time was crazy good.

And then there was the football game itself. A good game overall. Pretty exciting, thanks in large part to the rain. And you know what, okay, I'm going to stop beating around the bush, here. I haven't always been a fan of Payton Manning. I don't like it when his team beats the Broncos. But I'm going to show how big a man I can be and just come out and say it: I'm glad he finally got that Superbowl ring. The big game has evaded him for several seasons, and well, he deserves it. I know a lot of people love to hate Manning because he's just so damn good on the field and cool under pressure, and if he's not on your team those are bad qualities to have. And on top of that he's annoyingly funny and likable in those Mastercard and Sprint commercials. The guy's got talent and charm. Okay, okay. We get it. But come on, how much Payton Manning can we take already? Well, I'm willing to put all of that bitterness aside and say, "Good for you Manning." I'm happy for you.

But Prince stole the show.

link to this | comments (7) | File:  Music  Football