Two. There are three types of teachers: 1. The passionate, "teaching is life" type. 2. The financially trapped, who must keep their JOB long after their passion has wilted. 3. Those who teach as a hobby. I was a #3. I didn't give a crap about Math, but we sho' did have fun learnin them numbers and Greek letters.
Three. At the end of the day, I would walk out the classroom door, and drive home. It was an 8 minute walk to work, but a 3 minute drive - time is money! In those 3 minutes, the whole day would melt away, as if it never happened. I'd turn the house key and slip from one life into another. Sort of like:
Four. When the flip-house went on the market, I had trouble sleeping at night. I was sure there was a gas or water leak, but couldn't remember where. At 3am I'd remember. I'd drift to sleep, confident that I'd remember in the morning. Next morning, I'd rack my brain, but the leak information would be gone. This went on for 2 friggin weeks! Obviously there was no leak. By now the place would either be under water or have been blown to bits. Post-traumatic flip-house stress is annoying. All this may have been caused by:
Five. As a kid I had a nighttime ritual...I would run down the hallway and LEAP into bed, Superman style. One day Mom rearranged my bedroom. Regrettably, I failed to recall this fact until mid-flight. The sound of my body crumpling into a smashed heap still rings in my ears. I should mention that Mom would rearrange the furniture in our house EVERY MONTH. I grew up thinking this was normal. To this day, I haven't run across this phenomenon in any other household.
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First the kids cleared some space in the living room. |
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Then they boxed while listening to Nirvana. |
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Afterwards little girl rested her arms and ears. |
*Paul Harvey voice* And now, the rrrrest of the story:
Several innings later I learned that the towering foul ball had been hit by Zach. Nice.
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Two winners. |
On Wednesday I took the family to yet another crappy restaurant. Pittsburgh, you can do better! So many restaurants in the North Hills. All bad! But I didn't care. My mind was drugged by the opiate of the masses. Sports! I could only think about THE game. In a matter of hours, my Penguins would play what turned out to be their last game of the year against the superior, but hated Detroit Red Wings. (Wow...what to do with the extra 6-9 hours a week I've killed for the past 6 months watching hockey) Upon my triumphant arrival, everyone stopped eating and stared. Scanning the sea of fellow Penguin enthusiasts, my gaze was met by hate filled furrowed brows, and head shaking. Had Anti-Christ followed me into the restaurant? Hitler? Osama? George W? No, just me and my BRIGHT RED polo shirt. A wardrobe malfunction of blasphemous proportions! Somehow I didn't get beat up.
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I guess we got our money's worth. Care to sing along? Have some lyrics:
I'm goin' to Kentucky. I'm goin' to the fair; to see the Senoritas, with flowers in their hair. Shake it baby shake it, shake it all you can. Shake it like a milkshake, and do the best you can.
No, my kids aren't retarded. But thanks for your concern.
Yeah. So there's that. I'm no fan of blog videos, but since I've posted one, well, have another. Whenever I'm down, I watch this. I once watched it 20 times in a row.
More flip-house pics...
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The clawfoot tub has a rain shower...chicks dig that crap. In reality, it's annoying. Nerd construction-talk alert: The stone tile is Durango Travertine. I made the accent tiles out of marble and granite. The walk-in kitchen pantry is cherry. It's 4 feet wide by 8 feet tall on either side...plenty of room for lard, soup, Bisquick, and whatnot.
]]>After marriage, laundry became a drag, a blemish on otherwise idyllic Chicago weekends. Mrs. especially hated the laundromat. When we bought our first house, Mrs. was so enthralled by the idea of having OUR OWN washer and dryer, that she joyfully did the laundry. Nice! She seemed so happy, that I felt it would be for the best if I let her continue doing all the laundry. Why mess with a good thing, right? Well...Mrs. doesn't believe in doing all of the laundry. Once she gets 2/3 of the way down the pile, she turns her attention to more pressing matters. At the bottom of the laundry pile are clothes that have missed several seasons worth of daylight.
So...every time Mrs. goes out of town, I make it my mission to get to the bottom of the pile. This time around, running 4-5 loads a day, I noticed that 90% of the wash was children's clothing. All at once I figured out what was going on: My kids are always putting on "performances". The shows feature outrageous costumes. Sometimes there are 3-4 performances a day, spawning 3-4 outfit changes. It's not something I can get upset about. What am I gonna say? "HEY KIDS, STOP BEING CREATIVE. GO WATCH TV OR SOMETHING". In today's show, Asia said to Zach, "Pretend you're God, and you're waiting in line at the store."
Recent costumes:
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Go ahead, give me some wise-ass captions for the performance scenes. I'm waiting Noise and Scottie...
Gotta watch what I wear this week...could be months before it comes back clean.
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I suppose we changed the kitchen JUST A LITTLE. Off camera is a walk-in pantry made of solid cherry. Oh baby. Me and Pete Double-Chuck built the pantry and cabinets from scratch. Oh, and the granite countertops/backsplash...we cut and installed them ourselves. Did you know that granite is REALLY heavy? It is. The slab with the cook-top is 380 lbs. My back hurts thinking about it.
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The "before" pic is facing the wrong way...but you get an idea of the bogusness of the situation. What possessed our forefathers to butcher 9 1/2 foot ceilings by lowering them with a stank-ugly 7 1/2 foot drop ceiling? I'll never understand old people. Except for my dad. I got him figured out. I doubt he would have lowered the ceiling anyways. Go Dad!
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Exposing brick is not as easy as it looks. At least that's what my $8/hr. laborers tell me.
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This is the rumpus room. I wish my house had a rumpus room. I've got more pics, but I'm bored. I can only imagine how bored YOU must be. Go walk the dog or something! You're not getting any younger sitting in front of the computer!
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I should have wasted more...
You, gentle reader, get a post! You can thank my sciatic nerve. Fool nerve can go back anytime now. I'm not a pregnant woman, so I don't know what business it has acting all stupid on me. Oh, and my stomach is a little funny too. But that's my fault. Mrs. talked me into going to the Chinese buffet for dinner. When is that ever a good idea?? 300 items! All of them bad! Funny thing about that buffet, there were Mexican families at the restaurant. It got me feeling fantastico. I miss my hermanos. There are only like 20 Mexicans living in Pittsburgh. I don't know what Juan, Carlos, Jose, and Fernando have against my adopted city, but they seem to stay clear. Or they're all getting poisoned at the Chinese buffet. The landscapers here are white. Madness! Oh what I would give for an El Milagro taco from Blue Island Road in Chicago.
As a teacher, I made liberal use of my sick days. Upon my (triumphant) return, I'd look over the sub's attendance sheet sign-in. Inevitably some clown would sign in as Hugh Jass, or Anita Amanda Hugandkiss. Isn't that supposed to make the teacher mad? Not me. Those names made my day. Ooooooooo I loved me some goofy names. Of course I've matured since then, right? *Ahem* We're friends here, right? I have a terrible confession: I can no longer deny that my favorite TV show is iCarley. You don't know what iCarley is? Of course you don't! Its targeted audience is 11-year-olds. How I got mixed up with that crackhead show, well, I'll never know. The over-acting is so over-the-top, it's ridiculous. Even Zach shakes his head in disgust. It makes Mad TV look like subtle sophisticated comedy. So I've got that going for me.
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Zach and his best friend Ethan
At my first teaching position, I yelled all year long. Kids learned to tune me out. In my last years of teaching, I rarely raised my voice. The usage of something scarce has impact. Remember the post-Kramer hysteria of black comedians wanting to ban the "N-word"? As a casual Def Comedy Jam viewer, I would conjecture that the health and usage of the "N-word" has been nursed back to pre-Kramer levels. A successful ban would have sharpened the impact of the word to absolute volatile levels. But none of that has much to do with this old cracker. Here's what has me down: It's all these little kids running around with mohawks. The sanctity of the mohawk has been defiled. Or is this just a suburban Pittsburgh phenomenon? It's upsetting. About the only thing more upsetting is Zach's "faux-hawk". I need to sit down and give that boy a good talkin-to.
R.I.P. mohawk. Your shock value is near zero. In a bygone era, children would cry and hold on to their mommies when they would see me and my hairdo. These days those same impressionable kids would squeal, "Mom, look at that awesome haircut".
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R.I.P. |
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Confederates? |
Last night I accompanied my wife and her bandmates to the Penn Brewery. Pittsburgh has two major brew-pubs, both of which pour scandalously average beer. Pittsburgh, you can do better! A group called The Boilermaker Jazz Band was playing, and they did indeed rock the United States of America. Note the banjo, which gave them a Dixieland edge. I'm not sure how my brother the bass player got mixed up in something so decidedly Confederate, but he managed to bring it all night long.
Several years back I cleansed my house of Confederate musical instruments, namely my mandolin. I had bought the mandolin, an electric guitar, and a Martin acoustic guitar for my son's pre-birthday. With 7 weeks to go in her 1st pregnancy, my wife was told she couldn't leave the hospital until the future Zachary Taflin Neill was born. So I thought I'd pass the time by playing music. It went poorly. The electric guitar served as a constant reminder that I wasn't in a band (very depressing), and the acoustic guitar made me feel like a rich jerk, because only rich jerks can afford a Martin.
The Boilermaker Jazz Band - Until the Real Thing Comes Along.mp3
]]>As luck would have it, last week a different brand of quackery opened up across the street from my house - a chiropractic office. One of my old college roommates was a back cracker, so I'm familiar with this sort of operation. He was always trying to get me to ingest pig pancreas pills, and whatnot. Let me tell you, those pills weren't too cheap either. In a state of desperation, this morning I let those chiro's have their way with me. They seem to think I'll be peeing on my feet by weeks end. So I've got that going for me.
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Dirty old man.
Today probably wasn't the best day to go shopping in an African-American neighborhood. But when you're out of 2X4's, and the closest Home Depot is in East Liberty, well, whacha gonna do? Fortunately my brothers and sisters were amused rather than offended at my altered skin tone.
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Good times have returned at the flip house. One of Asia's friend's dad is helping me. We laugh all day long at some stooooopid stuff. Drywall goes up this week. After that it's the home stretch...
Dirty.
This kind of crap puts life in perspective. Here I've shipped my family off to Texas for 10 days so that I can work 12-hour days at my stupid flip house. How dumb is that? Never again.
When I was four years old my dad would let me play with his oscilloscope. Turning various knobs would produce sine waves and other funky shapes. Each session would end with a mind altering electric shock. I learned two things at an early age: 1. Following in my dad's footsteps as an engineer might not be so wise. 2. Getting a finger jolted, albeit painful, is OK, but electricity flowing into one hand, traveling across the chest, and out the other hand is not OK, but deadly.
Funny, this song started playing as I write...
I'm a little late posting pics of that Santarchy business, but you can check them out here. (Thanks Noise...good times as always) Highlights included SILENTLY (our mere presence) terrorizing a public library, and LOUDLY (lewd carols) terrorizing a "Church of Scientology" meeting.
]]>After a long day at the jobsite, uh huh, the jobsite, I happened to spot my reflection in a mirror. Caked onto 2 days worth of unshaven stubble was a fresh layer of grime. Then I looked down at my hands...more filth. As I drove to Asia's zillion dollar school, I thought about my situation - beaten down, bloody, dirty, and exhausted. It's always amusing to see the look on parents faces when I pick up Asia. Awwwww...what a nice man. Working so hard so that his daughter doesn't have such a hard life as he does. Hahahahahaha. Suckers! I hope my kids do well in school so that one day they'll have opportunities to get as dirty as me.
The flip/rehab is going as planned: over budget and behind schedule. Good times!
Saturday I'll be joining "Santarchy". Myself and a hundred other losers will dress up as Santa, wreaking havoc on Pittsburgh's "Southside" neighborhood. More good times!
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I'm smrt. |
Here's the new look. I'm so much smarter now. If I ever write a novel, I'm putting this picture on the back cover. (I won't...writing is torture. Do they still make kids write as punishment in school?)
I'm a few days late on this one, but whatever:
I once shared a townhouse with four other nerds. On the afternoon of October 31, 1995, I was attempting to record my roommate singing. Between songs, I happened to look out the window. I couldn't help but notice a group of feral Italian kids hiding in our bushes. With their Sam's-Club-sized crate of eggs, their primary focus appeared to be tricks rather than treats. Exercising poor judgment, they launched an attack on an off-roadish 4X4. And off the road it did come, with the sole intent of running over the egg throwing perpetrators. The modern day bullfight lasted for several wild minutes.
These days I'm a peace loving old man, stashed away in a hapless suburb. I drive a minivan. Part of me misses the unpredictable edge of urban living.
The songs I recorded that day are still some of my favorite songs. Here are a few:
Kirk Merchant - Down low.mp3
Kirk Merchant - Alone in the world.mp3
Kirk Merchant - Leave me alone for awhile.mp3
Kirk Merchant - Denial.mp3
Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted? I'm busy, so I'm gonna have to write fast. No time for the usual wise-assery today kids. The facts: 1) I got a new look. 2) I bought another house. 3) I drive two hours a day. 4) My daughter is attending a pre-school that is costing me more per year than my collective seven and a half years of college.
I might as well explain. 1) The new look: I bought prescription hipster/nerd glasses online. Yep, online. They're hot. I look so smart it's sickening. I'll post a picture next time. Halloween is a dangerous time to go for a new look. I remember a kid in high school wore plaid pants to school on Halloween. They were subtly plaid, not loud. Everyone thought he was dressed up as a nerd for Halloween, when in fact he was just sporting a new look. That reminds me...when I was a teacher, there was a girl who used to have a gap between her two front teeth. Once a week she would wear a big blue sweatshirt with the word "Gap" boldly emblazoned across the front. Not being able to crack the obvious joke nearly drove me to the nut farm.
2-4 is all related. Asia's school is on the other side of the world, so I drive her around half the day. So, what to do with a 5 hour gap in my afternoon...sit around while going broke paying for the world's most expensive pre-school education? No sir. I bought a house to rehab. And no, I didn't get inspired by "Flip this house" or any of that crap on TV. I swear I've never seen the show. Besides, I'm out of the TV business. I've rediscovered reading. Did you know that you can read books for free at the library? Shit man, it's amazing. All you gotta do is return the books on time. Sadly, the Neill family is down to our last library card. The only person with a valid library card (one without $20 in fines) is Asia. The librarian must think Asia's book selection is quite extraordinary for a four year old. Back to the house...so yeah, it's a major rehab, 4-5 months of work. I wouldn't call it a flip; it's more of an art project. I just finished building a cherry walk-in-pantry. For real, a cherry pantry. Beat that! My business partner is a guy named Pete Doublechuck. He's an artist of sorts, and a prolific woodworker. Oh and he's also an attorney, which is handy (provided we stay on good terms). Hopefully I won't lose too much money or too many fingers.
]]>In these modern times, there is no shortage of hippified parents hell-bent on raising their children without the mind-soothing powers of TV. But during my 1970's childhood? Not so much. Not having a TV meant one thing: your family was poor. And we were. But come on...we weren't THAT poor. My dad was simply anti-TV. And thus I grew up without the joys of television.
The only time I remember Dad talking about TV was his recounting of Neil Armstrong's landing on the moon. That may have been the only TV my dad watched over a 30+ year span. Before I was born, he kept the TV in the attic. Clever. Too friggin' hot to watch in the summer months, and too freezy during the winter. And then there were long blackout periods: For whatever reason, my mom would periodically cut the cord. Literally. (I always wondered - was the cord plugged in when she cut it???) By the time I was born, the TV attic party was over. After the 3rd or 4th snip, Dad got tired of fixing the cord.
Ah how times change. Last year my dad remarried. As it turns out, he married a TV addict. Well now. So...my dad came out for a visit over the weekend. During his visit our relationship took a giant leap forward. It's all contained in the following statement he uttered: "There's a show I watch. It's pretty good. Maybe you've heard of it? It's called 'Everybody Loves Raymond'".
]]>Me: Hey Asia, tell me about your house...
Asia: You mean my domicile???
Today I saw what a $5000 house looks like. It needed just a little work. I spent the rest of the day feeling itchy, thinking that spiders and cobwebs were in my hair. So I've got that going for me.
Yesterday Asia got me teary eyed, grilling me with questions about my mom. Once in a while it hits me how much I miss her. She's been gone almost three years now. And then I started missing my dad. So I decided to fly him up for a few days next week. The last time he was here was when he helped me move. Yep, my eighty-something-year-old dad and I unloading a moving truck. I probably should have hired a mover.
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