Down Market Maintenance

I have to admit, I never saw it coming. It was a typical Saturday morning and my trusty whiteboard was chock full of honey-do’s and gotta-get-dones. I had cracks to caulk, weeds to whack, and a porch to paint. On any other weekend, this would be cause for much rejoicing. Yeah, I’m funny that way. Give me a list of chores and a pouch full of power tools, and I’m in handyman heaven. But this time it was different. There was no rejoicing, just regret. Excited anticipation was replaced with downright dejection. There was no joy in Toolville. Then it hit me: I was suffering from an acute case of (gasp) Domicile Dowturn Depression.

With the exception of peculiar guys like me, mundane chores such as painting, mowing, and caulking rate just slightly above un-anaesthetized ingrown toenail extraction on the typical homeowner’s list of weekend things to do. Now that home values are plunging and adjustable mortgage rates are soaring, the thought of blowing precious “me time” on the ol' money pit is an even harder sell, to say the least. The good news is that eventually the market will turn. Always has, always will. What happens in the meantime time could be the difference between “fixer-upper” and “fabulous find” when it comes time to sell. With this in mind, I knew I had to break through my DDD diagnosis and find a treatment for this horrible and debilitating disease, and that’s just what I did. It is my hope that my journey will serve to help others that are fighting this dreadful affliction.

Like all diseases, the first step is proper diagnosis. Symptoms of DDD include (but are not limited to) sudden and frequent urges to vegetate, Lumberaphobia- an irrational fear of wood and wood glue, mood swings that coincide with monthly bill paying, and an uncontrollable desire to “Zillow” your neighborhood more than seven times a day. If you suffer from two or more of these symptoms, please read on.

While there is no cure for DDD, there is hope. I have found that naming my weeds after local and national media real estate pundits is a wonderful motivator when it comes time to doing the weekly whack. Pretending my caulk gun is a real gun is another effective treatment. (Mimicking the sound of a Tommy-gun while applying the caulk makes it even more realistic) Scream Therapy helps, but only when in the presence of a bound and gagged mortgage broker. You might want to research local kidnapping ordinances before trying that last suggestion.

Does grinding out the homeowner to-do list still feel like that time your Mom made you send a birthday gift to the high school sweetheart who dumped you two days before the prom, but after you paid a hefty non-refundable deposit on the tuxedo, flowers, limousine, and were all but sure you’d get to second base for the first time in your wretched, acne pocked, C-minus in English Composition (which you thought you were really good in, but the teacher was out to get you), high school life? Maybe you should see a doctor or something; you might need some kind of mental medicine. If my advice has helped you, let me know. Maybe I can write a book on the subject because I really need another source of income. My 5-1 adjustable is going to re-amortize any day now.

Something that "Rocks"

So I get this email at 8:10 am, on a Thursday morning. Its from my keepers at In & Out Publications, LLC. I’m told that they want to bump the literal masterpiece (that I submitted two freaking weeks ago) and they now want me to “whip up” something about landscaping rocks. No, I’m serious. Oh, and they want it by tomorrow morning to meet some stupid deadline. Hey, I’m an artist, here! Do think I can just spew out 600 words on command, like some trained chimp? Fine, here’s what you get when you rush an artist…

I grew up in a small town in New Jersey, a place where people were relatively normal and tended to plant grass in their yards. Well, actually, there was this one guy who laid asphalt and painted it green, but he also wore a tin foil hat and yelled profanities at the mailbox. Other than that guy, grass is what went in your yard, period.

Behind our house was gravel covered alley. When cars drove through the alley, they would spray that gravel into our yard. Subsequently, I spent many summer days picking rocks out of our lawn, usually as punishment for something I didn’t do. I was misunderstood then, much like I am now. Bottom line: rocks go in the alley, not the yard. Grass goes in the yard.

Imagine my confusion the first time I laid eyes on Greater Phoenix suburbia! My first notion was that the kids out here were either very well behaved, or extremely lazy! It took me a day or two to realize that you zany locals put rocks in your yard on purpose. I even saw one guy in Sun City whose front “lawn” was adorned with thousands and thousands of red, white, and blue hand painted pebbles that spelled out “America, Love it or Leave it”. The thought occurred to me that this homeowner must be very patriotic, very angry, and have an awful lot of time on his hands.

Technically speaking, it’s not called rock, or pebbles, or stones, or gravel, for that matter. The proper term is “decomposed granite”. No, really, that’s what its called. (I think I know one industry that is totally overpaying it’s marketing department) The big pieces of granite have decomposed into smaller pieces of granite, which is how they came up with the wonderful name. By the way, this decomposition process continues after you hump, haul, and rake it into your yard. Eventually, the rocks turn into gravel, and the gravel turns into dust. That’s why you need to repeat the process every five to ten years. Oh, joy!

As you probably know, the color of your rocks, as well as the size, can be they difference between HOA harmony and the dreaded “nasty-gram”. Some people have had to remove tons of the stuff because it was too big, too small, to red, or too brown. I don’t think the quarries have a return policy, so its best to know what you’re permitted to have before you get it dumped in front of your house. Oh, and when you do get it dumped in front of your house, its your responsibility to make sure that “Mount Gravel” doesn’t pose a safety hazard to vehicles navigating the street. As much as we’d all love to witness our neighbor’s Subaru jump 23 recycling bins, most community CC&R’s frown upon this type of exhibition- and the facial lacerations that go with it.

Well that concludes my column on gravel, or rocks, or… whatever you want to call the stuff. I hope you learned something, although you probably didn’t. Its not about education around here, or art for that matter. Its all about keeping the honchos happy. I feel so, so dirty….