Perforated Lines (you can't resist 'em!)

 the hand scrapes
-- Thursday, September 16, 1999 --



9:38 a.m. I'm up extra early and I'm all afire to get to work -- that is, the real work of painting and scraping. Ha-ha! I've determined that I am going to paint. It's been bugging and itching at me ever since I moved my office and now I have a major excu -- reason. I have to move things all around again and one whole wall is exposed and virtually begging to be fixed up. One thing leads to another.

On Sunday, the day I "forgot" to write, I'd set my Saturday pages on to print, each of which takes about, oh, ten minutes. I have a strange but fabulous crock pot of a printer, and I have to accommodate her. So, I've always had to amuse myself while the printer is chugging along because multitasking on this old machine -- I don't think so. Multitasking in real life: but of course. So, while the printer was running, I'd wandered outside to the paint can collection, which badly needed organizing.

Now, this next paragraph will be as painful to certain types of readers as if I were talking about my first menstrual period. Which involved a fevered swap of a Chocolate TandiTake for an ordinary cupcake, but that's another story for another day. No, today I will make your blood run cold with this: I collect old paint and I mix it all up together in a big ten-gallon drum with a broomstick handle. All the names, all the gunk from the top if it's not too disgusting -- all mixed up into a slurry brew that is thick and rich and ready to pour.

All the names: Killz, primer, flat, semi-gloss, eggshell, and hi-gloss. As long as it's latex, of course. I'm not crazy. But I enjoy batching things that are similar, as I've mentioned before. Thus: studio white and summer sail and foggy mist: swirl 'em together. It makes: white-ish. Linen and snow flake and winter fox -- in they go. Belgian cream, gauzy mist, tallow, storm lightning, beeswax, rice paper, ermine whisper -- they all become, once they mingle and blend a bit: white.

Igor stands over paint chips for hours and hours, as you can imagine. Moves them from the fluorescent to the incandescent to the sunlight. He loads them in the car, unloads them into the garage, and then goes back to his manuscripts and meetings. I open 'em up, mix 'em up, slap it up, and when he comes around to inspect and admire, I come up with an appropriate name on the spot. Oh, that's glacier on the windowsills and pearly barley on the walls. You like?

So, yes this entry is going to be short and sweet. I've got some spackle threatening to dry out. I've got big plans and I don't have all the time in the world because tomorrow the cable guy is coming to hook my machine up to a bandwidth that I can only imagine. The reason I'm not getting too too excited about it yet is because -- it's the cable company. They've made an "appointment". We'll wait and see.

I'll let you know. Meanwhile, I have this idea for the walls -- something I saw once in a magazine. It involves a stencil and a pencil and I don't know -- what? Three-hundred man-hours? But when I finish, I should have an office that anybody could do some really nice work in. It will be inspiring.

I don't know what's come over me. One minute I was fine, intelligently reading the morning paper, sipping coffee, and musing. The next minute I'm covered in white speckles. Well, they're sort of white. Beige-y, almost. It must have been moonglow.

Tomorrow? Looking good.


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