Saturday, August 20, 2016

Chapter 2: Chafing Nation - A summer in New Orleans (with critters!)

Chapter 2: Chafing Nation - A summer in New Orleans (with critters!)

As you might have guessed, it can get real hot and swampy down there - and I'm not just talking about Louisiana. Sometimes the line just can't be found between the humidity and my own perspiration. One of the first things Ole Alex - a friend (and my employer) - said to me upon my relocation was "Gold Bond." Wise words and taken to heart - I have become a powdered dandy. Though my preference is generally for the less medicated though probably still chemically rich Johnson and Johnson's Baby Powder. So I'm really more of a powdered baby. Just a wet stinky baby in a bike shop. Business has been slow so I've had some time on my hands to contemplate the state of my cotton clothes.

Apparently this wasn't even the worst of the years, and to be perfectly honest. I found it fairly tolerable. Being hot and drenched in sweat - I like this. You can still feel like you accomplished something without even getting out of bed! And we wonder why it takes decades to get a street repaved down here.

As lethargic as the human population becomes, the critters get all sorts of exciteable. Now conveniently enough, I have spent the whole summer in a mood opposite to writing - allowing me to actually accrue some knowledge on the subject. I've saved the best for first which is also chronologically accurate.

The month of May here in the city is a special month for termites. It's breeding season. During this time, you can easily observe (and with difficulty avoid) swarms of termites on the prowl for love. It's a veritable airborne sex party around every streetlamp. They do it obviously to demonstrate their reckless abandon to us more prudish and self conscious humans. That being said, we are voyeurs by nature and so do gape in awe, revulsion and envy. The termite Orgy Cloud starts somewhere and moves it's way through different areas of the city, sharing their good vibes for a few intense days before moving elsewhere. Most of us want no part and so wait with apprehension for them to appear outside and inside your home. It is when they come through your neighborhood that good roommates will remind you to close the blinds and shut off the lights. Wait for the specter to pass.

Though sometimes you become part of the swinging mix whether you like it or not. Such as happened in my house. Little did my new roommate know what was to appear as the welcoming committee. They were on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor. Thankfully slow moving, we were able to manually destroy hordes of copulating mates. This quickly became too disgusting to continue so I went out for some spray which was conveniently located in abundance not 5ft from the entrance of Home Depot.

With the termites finally settled into what I guess is a yearlong postcoital stupor, we were able to get on with our lives.

Until the raccoons moved in. They chose the luxurious space beneath Madeleine's floorboards causing quite a ruckus. Some of you who follow my super-active facebook page might have been aware of this development. During most of the month of July, we would listen to them chatter away, loudly and obnoxiously, right there under where she keeps her mountain of laundry. Having never dealt with this issue before, the three of us were somewhat at a loss. Our first attempts to alert them to our displeasure mostly involved us drunkenly stomping on the floorboards and yelling at them. WE pay rent, afterall.

We knew they were entering and exiting from under the house which is raised about 3 feet off the ground. So being the little problem solver I am I decided to try my hand at trap building just like how I learned in all those years I wasn't in the Boy Scouts. I took a milk crate and tied a couple bricks on top for weight. I propped it up outside on a stick that was planted in a dish full of enticing bait which was a helping of peanut butter crackers and like 20 crushed up Tylenol PM tablets. My plan was for the racoon to nibble away at the crackers, knocking against the stick and trapping him. Then, having become groggy if not comatose from the sleeping pills, I could then collect and displace the cute little bastard somewhere far away.

That didn't work.

What did end up working was something of a struggle and fairly invasive as far as house maintenance goes. I drilled several holes in the floor and walls of Madeleine's room. Using a squeeze bottle, I liberally distributed ammonia down said holes, sealing them up with caulking material afterwards. And this worked! The first time I did it the raccoons got the hell out of there in a vocal fury. I could see the floorboards move as they hustled their way out of her room...and on over into the same space in our neighbor's side of the house. Thier home is the mirror opposite to ours with a shared wall down the middle of the building. I guess that wall doesn't include the space under the floorboards. So I packed up my drill, ammonia, mask, goggles and gloves and went and did the same thing on their side. It has been about a month now, if not longer, since we've heard them. Knock on wood, this trial has too has been resolved.

Besides that, the summer has just been hot as shit and kinda slow. It thunderstorms on average a few times a week down here during the season. Plenty of water to go around as most of you have seen on the news. New Orleans escaped the worst of it, and with no hurricanes suspected of making landfall right on top of us it seems we've have a summer unscathed.


Thursday, June 2, 2016

Chapter 1: Buying a Mattress




It was around late February when these events took place. New Orleans was warming up in the afternoon as I stepped out onto the porch to find Travis on the banjo having a couple beers. This scene came to be familiar, contextual even, to many an adventure - some of which I hope to share with you all. Well, we had been up the night before playing croquet till all hours on the front lawn; and much as I would have liked to lounge outdoors and watch the plants grow, I had made up my mind to be productive that day. 

At this time I was sleeping on a wooden bed frame of my own make comprised of 2x4's and plywood sheets. Sarah was nice enough to load me a foam pad which I had doubled over and wrapped in spare bedding. I also had a sleeping bag. But after two months I had grown tired of camping in my own bedroom so I decided the time had come to grow up a little and buy my very first mattress. My sleeping apparatus acquirement thus far in my life had consisted of futons and second hand items passed on from friends and strangers. So least to say, I was excited by the prospect. A new experience for a new home. 

Travis, for lack of anything better to do, decided to accompany me on over to Mattress Direct where I hoped to spend as little as $250 for a brand spanking new crash pad. I was happy not just for the company but also for the wise council that Travis provides and that I have come to rely upon. Having grown up hunting his own food and distilling his own liquor since childhood in the jungles of back country Georgia, my friend has come to know one or two things about the world. We jumped in Doris (the indomitable traveling Taurus) and sped off. 

A middle aged man named Bruno greeted us through his sandwich as we walked in the door. The building seemed long as it was tall, though oddly narrow feeling. Bruno was genial and spoke with the authority of someone experienced and comfortable with his daily routine. We spoke at some short length about his merchandise. He asking me several pointed questions about my mattress preferences to which I had halting and incomplete responses.. Travis was quiet but observant. Sooner than eventually, we all came to the slightly awkward realization that I simply didn't know very much about buying a mattress at all. 

"This y'all's first time buying huh?"
In a chuckle that strained to appear casual I responded that yes, true,I haven't had much experience with that sort of thing. Bruno put his sandwich down. 

"Alright well let me get you some education on the subject."

Unbeknownst to me (and possibly even to Travis) was that there exists a real and true methodology to trying out mattresses. Bruno called it his "three-minute rule."

"Because if you can't feel comfortable on a mattress for three minutes, that ain't your mattress."

Bruno provided me with a pillow, which was considerate, and a disposable sheet to cover it, which made me feel dirty. 

Despite my obviously disheveled appearance and having made an off-hand comment about being a cheap bastard who just wanted a cheap mattress, we started with the most expensive item in the store. "And we'll work our way down from there," he said. So I mounted up on a king-size tempurpedic with built in heating as well as individualized positioning for couples. Bruno held the controls and took it upon himself to make me "comfortable." And it was while I was being remotely cradled by a man I had only just met that I was shown the paramount feature which made this mattress the mattress to end all mattresses. Bruno punched in a combination on the remote and I felt my whole body register a massive eruption from a subwoofer that was built into a bed frame. Speakers from the headboard blared out the accompanying melody from what sounded like a hundred brass horns. I was quickly overwhelmed and looked to my companion to try and gauge the appropriate reaction to my experience here. Outwardly, Travis registered mild surprise - inwardly however, I knew he was exceptionally amused. 

And just as quickly, it was all over. My three-minute joy ride with the King of All Mattresses was finished. The music stopped and I was fully horizontal once more. I was then informed that for the low-low cost of just eight thousand dollars, I could have that same experience every night. Reasonable payment plans were available. I said that perhaps it was somewhat over my price range.

"Well alright, let's move on."

And thus continued a long and thoroughly curated tour by Bruno of his domain and the myriad of mattress designs and styles he had to offer. I would lie down, as instructed, and Bruno would sit right across from me on the neighboring product, asking me questions, watching and waiting. There was quite a bit of waiting to go around. During these three-minute trials I had the chance to ponder deeply as to the effects of social discomfort on the relativity of time. 

I was on my 7th and last mattress, the cheapest one in the store at $450. Bruno was expectant though not pushy and allowed me some time and space to ponder my options. It was time to be decisive. Be strong - be concrete about you want, I told myself.  I got up. Squared my jaw. Leveled my gaze and walked over the register. 

"Yea listen, um, thanks this has been great and, like, I dig all these, and thanks for all the help, yeah, but maybe I think I'm going to think about it I think - I'll definitely come back." And we left. 

The End

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Postscript: I did actually end up finding a mattress that day at a used furniture store near my house. I didn't break the bank and I got something comfortable, making sure to spend three minutes on it before purchase. It's now in my room and I use it every night, sometimes during the day too.