Team Savoy

I recently redid our 1/2 bath downstairs. I knew I wanted to try out a textured look on the walls, so we got some drywall scraps and I tried out a few different colors and methods. I decided to use a rag instead of a sponge and selected 3 different colors for the project. For the base coat, I used the color bagel (by Behr), which is also the color of our front room. After D helped me pull everything off the walls and dismantle the toilet, I got to work applying the base coat using your standard rolling method:

Now, I figured I would crank this project out in no time since the 1/2 bath is the smallest room in the house. I had never painted a bathroom before, so I didn’t know about all of the nooks and crannies involved. I practically had to stand on my head a couple of times to get the job done. And… okay, I probably whined a little throughout the process too. After the base coat dried, I mixed the color caramelized orange (again by Behr) with their glaze base and then applied it by scrunching up a rag and dabbing it on the wall. I’m not sure if my method was considered ragging or colorwashing, but whatever it was, it took awhile:

Things were looking pretty orange in there after I was finished and I almost panicked that I would have an Illini themed bathroom, which is not what I was going for. The next day after everything had dried and I had given my poor claw-like hands a rest, I went back to work and applied the final Behr color, crispy gingersnap, which had also been mixed with the glaze, using the same rag method. I’ll be honest, this color looked a little unappealing on its own, but it really helped tone down the orange I had already used. Here is the final result:

The color ended up being a little more intense than I had originally envisioned, but I really like the end result. Which is a good thing, because I won’t be doing any more painting for a long time.

Picture it: Northwest Champaign. It’s 90 degrees at 9:30 PM. We’re at a friend’s birthday party playing Guitar Hero outside, courtesy of a projector and a garage door. I’m doing pretty well on the expert level given that I’ve had my fair share of the birthday keg. K shows up to take me home and I state that I’m gonna play one more song and then take off. I play my song and then turn around to find out a crowd has appeared and a 12 year old girl has challenged me.

Challenged me? I’ve never been challenged before. What does this mean? Am I about to get schooled at Guitar Hero in front of a crowd of people, some of whom I know and work with? I hope she doesn’t want to play “Cult of Personality,” because I will lose.

I immediately start my anti-smack talk. Like, “This isn’t fair. I have a job to go to during the day. She’s got all summer vacation to practice.” (true) Or, “I don’t even have this version of the game at home.” (also true) Or, “I’m sight reading here!” (false) Then it was, “Let’s even the playing field and give her 6 beers first.”

Okay, I don’t really advocate giving a 12 year old 6 beers. But, it would’ve been more fair.

So, the game starts. Luckily we’ve picked a song that I can get through.  I’m concentrating as hard as I can. I’ve never been so nervous playing the game. In the background, I hear K shout, “D, if you lose I’m leaving and taking the dog with me.” Or maybe that was just my imagination. Either way, I can’t lose or I’ll never live it down.

Things seem pretty evenly matched. I’m impressed. We’ve all seen the 6 year old on YouTube playing on Expert while not looking. I’m glad it wasn’t that kid. Instead, it was just your average 12 year old girl who is awesome at GH3. Maybe we could’ve given her just 1 beer?

Finally, the song’s over. I look up to see I’ve scored 171,000 and my competition is at 99,000!!!  I WON!! I AM THE CHAMPION!! I AM THE CHAMP-ION!!  Which is, of course, the worst way to win. “Great. You beat a 12 year old girl. Way to go!” I mean, you can’t impress your wife with that.

The other night we heard some strange noises coming from the kitchen. I went in to investigate and this is what I found. I think Emma has seen her old man drink one too many Coke Zeros…

Earlier this month, D and I took a trip to Florida. He had a convention in Orlando, so I flew into Tampa to visit my friend Jenn for a few days while he sat in a convention center and learned about computer stuff. I had a great time in Tampa, it was nice to catch up with her and I got to spend some quality time with her son. I am now a pro at peeling off crayon wrappers and also learned that Blue from Blue’s Clues is actually a girl. Who knew?

We also spent a day at the beach which gave me my first sunburn - I mean, tan- of the summer. And don’t even try to lecture me about wearing sunblock. Trust me, I use plenty of sunblock. Some of us (me) will burn no matter how much SPF we are wearing, unless we spend the entire time at the beach camped out in the shade (which I have done before). Others of us (my husband) select their sun “protection” (I’m using quotes because can you really consider SPF 5 to be protection?) based on which one smells like coconut. But, I digress.  

On Thursday, I rented a car and headed to Orlando. D had secured a ticket for me to the big party that is always held on the last night of this convention. Most of Universal Studios was shut down for the party and everything was free. Food, drinks, rides, games. It’s a crazy experience to walk around a theme park and have people standing on every corner handing out chips, M&Ms, cotton candy, and turkey legs for free when normally each of the aforementioned items would run you about $8. D and his friend Tim took full advantage of every beer stand we passed. I think it improved their hand-eye coordination.

The next day, we headed to D’s parents’ house in North Ft. Myers. Highlights of our visit included a round of golf for D and his dad, a shopping trip for me and D’s mom, a fiercely competitive card game with two of D’s neices, an almost dance performance by his other niece (how about now, Kelley? ), a golf cart ride, a trip to the pool (aka sunburn #2), and dinner at D’s sister’s house. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of any of these highlights because for some reason I stopped taking pictures after Thursday. So, instead I will leave you with a picture of us on the golf cart during last year’s trip.

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I really do have a college degree. However, I’m not as mechanically inclined as I’d like to be. I have no delusions of rebuilding an engine, but I’d like to think I am able to keep up with general household tasks. So the following story is a little dismaying, but altogether not too surprising.

A few years ago, I was mowing the lawn and hit the water main in the front yard. The lawn stayed dry, but the mower blade was horribly twisted. After giving Lowe’s some money, I got a new blade, installed it, and finished mowing the lawn. Remember, this was years ago. This past week, I took a close look at my grass and saw that the tips weren’t neatly chopped. These frayed grass tips definitely make the lawn look a little dry. I figured that the blade wasn’t sharp and needed to be tuned up.

I took the blade down to the workshop and ground the cutting edge down until it was sharp. I thought it was weird that there was no paint missing off the cutting edge and it didn’t really look that dull. Whatever. While I was putting it back on, I made sure to put the blade on exactly as it had been before. Then, I dragged K out to take a look at the blade while I pulled the cord to make sure it was going clockwise (the direction of the cutting edge).

“No. It’s going the other direction.”

“Counter-clockwise?”

“Yep.”

-silence-

I had put the blade on upside down years ago. For years I’ve not been cutting the grass, I’ve been blunting it to death. No wonder the grass had frayed ends. After turning the blade right-side up, I gave it a test cut and immediately noticed a difference. And then…..

BANG!!!

Something hit the blade. I turned the mower upside down and found that a piece of metal that connects the blade to the deck had broken off and hit the spinning blade - and nicked it in the process. Now I need to get a new part AND resharpen the blade. Oh, well. At least it’s spinning in the right direction now.

It’s finally that time of year again! This Saturday was opening weekend for the Urbana Farmer’s Market. It’s about the only thing that can get us out of bed at a reasonable hour on a Saturday. And after months of cold, snowy, rainy, icy, depressing weather, it was great to stroll around with our coffee in hand, taking in all the market has to offer.

Our first stop was the C-U Herb Society’s sale inside Lincoln Square.

Then, it was onto the market.

In addition to produce, you can also find meat & poultry

plus crafts…

and entertainment.

I’ll be honest, though. This is what I really came for:

Ah, kettle corn. How I’ve missed your sweet and salty goodness.

I like sausage. But… K doesn’t. We really should have gone over that before the nuptuals, but it’s a little too late now. So, a couple months ago when K started planning a girls weekend out of town, I decided that I would buy a food grinder, invite over a couple friends, and have a sausage weekend. Like you wouldn’t.

So, what is sausage fest? It’s a bunch of guys hanging out, playing Xbox, drinking beer, and making sausage from scratch. For a good sausage fest, you need a few tools. A food grinder, sausage stuffer, and a book on how to make sausage (we used Charcuterie by Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn):

Then, you need meat. Lots of meat. Pork butt to be specific.

Cut up that meat…

and add in some other ingredients. Yes, he is using a power drill to help grind the pepper.

Then, put it in the fridge and let it sit. What can do you do while you’re waiting? Oh, I know. Play Guitar Hero!

When you’re ready to go with the sausage, start by grinding the meat:

Then, ya gotta stuff it in the casings.

When you’re done, this is what you get:

Hmmm.. Now what? Ah, yes. More Guitar Hero:

Then, more sausage:

When you’re all out of meat, twist the casings, and this is what you get:

You’re looking at a nice batch of Mexican Chorizo, Spicy Italian, and Marjoram Kielbasa just waiting to be devoured. We didn’t get a picture of it, but we used some of the Italian to make a Chicago style deep dish pizza with an awesome solid layer of sausage. Very tasty.

In all, I’d say it was a very successful sausage fest. Maybe next year we’ll add in some bratwurst!

I was sleeping soundly early Friday morning until about 4:30 a.m. when I woke up and realized the bed was shaking, as if D was trembling uncontrollably next to me. So, I sat up and looked over at him at about the same time he sat up and looked at me. I put my hand on his leg and he put his hand on my arm and we were both looking at each other like, “Are you okay? No, are you okay?” Then, I realized our semi-empty water glasses on the nightstand were rattling. “What is that?” I asked. D answered, “I think it’s just a train…” before stumbling out of bed to look out our bathroom window. Which would have made more sense if you could actually see the train tracks from there. Or any other window in the house.

Anyway, he comes back and says, “Yeah, it’s just a train…” Which sort of made sense since we could hear the familiar horn of a train in the distance. I jokingly replied, “Are you sure it wasn’t an earthquake or something?” Instead, we dismissed it as nothing and went back to sleep. Because when was the last time we had an earthquake here? Tornados, maybe. But, not earthquakes. Besides, aren’t dogs supposed to be really in tune to stuff like that? Ours pretty much snored through the whole thing.

The next morning, D was looking through the local papers online and found that all the main articles were about the earthquake that shook central Illinois. Huh. Who knew? Thanks a lot for the heads up, Emma.

About a month ago, we finally purchased a new tv, which D had been coveting since before we got married. The day it was delivered, he stayed home from work to bask in all of its sleek, modern glory. Our old tv looked like a dinosaur in comparison. When I came home from work, he was on the couch watching a woodworking show on the new tv…which was on the floor. He was waiting for me to help lift the old tv, or “the beast” as I will now be referring to it, from the tv stand. That was not fun. However, we somehow managed to hug the tv from both sides and shuffle a few feet over to the corner where we lovingly sat it down on the floor. It would reside there for the next few weeks because my desire to stop seeing it there did not override the fear of my lungs bursting and arms snapping off in an attempt to move it down to D’s office in the basement.

Weeks go by. The new tv is great and I was getting pretty used to ignoring the beast in the corner. Until last Saturday when I heard D running cable through the wall down to his office. My immediate thought was, “Oh, crap. He’s going to want me to move that stupid beast downstairs so he can hook it up in his office. Well, it’s not going to happen. No way can I move that thing. He will have to ask one of the guys to come over and help.” I continued watching the Bachelor while remaining in complete denial. Eventually, I heard the familar sounds of woodworking and I began to relax. “Okay, he realizes there is no way I can help drag this thing down there so he has moved onto another project,” I thought. So, I went back to wondering why that annoying girl on the show has to sing to the bachelor every chance she gets. Seriously, do the girls this season think this show is actually some sort of talent competition?

Anyway, I’m watching my show and then here comes D, holding this cart he has fashioned out of scrap wood and some wheels (I am just now wondering as I type this where those wheels came from). It reminded me of the carts they had on move-in day at the dorms to help make moving all of your stuff in a little easier. Okay, a little easier on my dad and/or brother who usually ended up doing most of the heavy lifting.

He shows me this cart with a huge smile like he is so proud of himself for making this task easier for me while I am thinking, “Are you freaking kidding me?!” because I realize we can’t just send this cart careening down a flight of stairs. He goes on to explain how we just have to lift it on the cart and then roll it to the stairs. “Yeah.. then what???” I asked, my tone a tad sarcastic. “Well… then we carry it down the stairs, but I will go first to take the brunt of the weight and when we get to the bottom it goes right back on the cart. Really, it won’t be that bad,” he replied.

You have to admire the guy’s technique. He knows there is NO WAY I was going to move that thing without some kind of assistance. So, I start thinking maybe he’s right. Maybe it won’t be so bad. And it would be nice to get it out of the living room. So, we load it onto the cart, which honestly wasn’t that hard. Then, we realize one of the wheels has already buckled due to the weight of the beast, so we take it off the cart. He fixes the wheel, we put it back on. We roll it out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into the hall. Piece of cake! Then, it’s go time. Right before we are about to attempt lift-off, he gives me a speech about bending my knees because my form wasn’t that good before. After letting him know that if my form wasn’t good enough, he could find someone else to help him, we went for it.

Now, ladies. If you ever find yourself in a similar predicament, I recommend that you be the first one to go down the stairs. Because while it may seem like that person has the harder job, the other person immediately ends up bent over at an awkward angle that no amount of proper knee bending can help. And it’s like that the whole way down. About halfway through this horror, I asked for a break. My grip slipped a little and the tv landed with a bit of thud as we set it down. We took it stair by stair after that. The whole time I was silently cursing my husband and thinking about dropping that tv for real to teach him a lesson.

Somehow, we made it to the bottom and put the beast back on the cart, which we wheeled through the woodshop and into his office, its final resting place. D was pretty triumphant about it. “See? We did it! I told you that you could do it.” I was not feeling so triumphant. That last thing I told him before I went back to my show was that when we are ready to dispose of that thing, we will be beating it with a baseball bat Office Space style and removing it piece by piece.

Since I am using maple for the edge of the curved desk, I have to curve the wood - something it doesn’t really want to do. I chose to use a steam box to actually bend the wood. It’s not the easiest way, but it will look awesome when it’s done. To accomplish this, I had to first build the steam box and start filling it with steam:

Then, I suspended the piece of maple inside the steam box to let steam circulate all around it.

Then, I just let it steep (cool, huh?)

at about 212 degrees…

After an hour or so, I took it out of the box:

and started bending it around the desk:

I added lots of clamps and used curved blocks to hold the banding in place:

Then, I just let it cool down overnight.

The next day I took the clamps off and voila! A curved piece of wood:

As with most bending processes, there was a little bit of “springback.” Springback is like wood memory. Since it doesn’t really want to curve, it tries to retaliate by bending back a little. I was a little dissapointed at how much springback there was. Oh, well. I guess it doesn’t matter too much in this case since I’m just going to reclamp this to the desk. Next step: glue this piece on…