Well, I tried to have a productive weekend. One of those when I try to emulate my old man and do all sorts of manly things around the house. The problem is that my manly projects invariably end up being incomplete and/or less then excellent quality. For example, the last time I attempted a major project, taking up the old carpet, my dream was to also gussy up the hardwood floors underneath. Removing the carpet took longer than expected, so instead we just left the floor as is, looking forward to that mythical day where we'll either have time to do it ourselves or have the inclination to pay for the pros to do it. And as long as the floor keeps us from falling into the basement, that day will probably remain far off.

Anyway, my ambition for this weekend was modest, really. Our neighbors had removed some ivy from their property, which meant that the branches that had satarted growing on the front of our garage shriveled up and died. Sometime during our August vacation, those branches came down--whether on their own or with human help, I don't know--and took bits of the paint with them. The pattern is not all that interesting, so I figured I should touch up the paint. Sometime Friday, as I listened to the weather reports, I figured that I should jump on that task this weekend. I said no to overtime and after the ladies left on a farm tour, I ran down to Fred Meyer to get the paint roller pad and tray that I needed. (I also needed socks and bologna, which is why I went to Freddies instead of Home Depot.) When I got home and finally got around to it, I discovered that I hadn't secured the can of blue paint last time I used it and that sucker had dried clear down to the bottom. Since we're talking about replacing the porch, I figured that the ivy damage can just wait until we get some paint to paint the entire porch. I did, however paint a couple of panels on my garage door which should have been painted the trim color far too long ago. So endeth my manly work for the day. sigh...

The rest of the weekend I spent paying bills, playing with the girls and finish setting up my new Mac G3. (They gave it away at work because of "booting problems". I've been booting off of an external hard drive for about a week now with no problems... except that since yesterday the misbehaving internal hard drive has mysteriously started to mount up. Goofy computer...) All useful tasks, but somehow lacking that satisfying feeling I get after doing some major, physical project. I don't know if it's the fact that major projects tend to stay done for a few years, or that the physical labor induces some chemical process that relaxes the mind, or if it's just a psychological phenomenon where my subconscious is pleased that I'm imitating my father. My dad wouldn't care. He'd just grab a Pepsi, pull up a chair and watch some TV.