A vacation of sorts

Yes, we took this week off, and I have been catching up on my sleep. I have, however, also been tackling a project at our cottage that has me wondering, "And for this, I'm using vacation time?"

I've been sanding the deck, which though small, threatens to take the rest of this holiday to prep. The paint--yes, the puddin'head used regular paint--on it is impossibly thick (where it hasn't peeled off, of course). The deck needs to be refinished, though, and as we are going to put it on the market soon to ease our financial load, we can't just pay someone to do it. Rather defeats the "ease our financial load" part of the program, not to mention fly in the face of family tradition (my father was a painter, his father was a painter, and so on and so forth).

Realize that this is just the sort of "holiday" I am genetically programmed to have--a working one. My mother's Calvinist, Protestant side is gratified that I am not just lolling around enjoying myself, while my father's Catholic side is gratified that I'm spending my time making something better that I will not enjoy. Doing something good and getting no benefit from it is a Catholic imperative, as I recall (if you do something good to get a benefit, it doesn't count; ditto if you do something good and tell someone about it. Don't ask).

So, toss together the Protestant work ethic and Catholic guilt, and what do you have? A vacation spent sanding the deck.

It is beautiful out here, that is true, and the weather has cooperated most of the time. Plus, when the weather wasn't cooperating, I did sneak in a side trip to a local outlet mall, and bought myself some nice shirts for work.

And I'm working on getting in a GLBT comedy show in NYC, goddess willing. We shall see what, if anything, comes of that.

But otherwise? My only show is the upcoming open mic at PACE, hosted by my comedy buddy Jennifer. And Jennifer--though I know it puts you in a bunch, I'm glad your car was declared beyond repair this week. That car was iffy on a good day in the '90s, so get out there and find yourself a car that doesn't lead your friends to cross themselves when they see you drive off to an unknown future. In sum: Let that crate be the last deathtrap you own--protect your vital carcass!

Please.