I'm Cleaning My House With What?!

Check out my latest article. Then allow me to explain what prompted it.

Perhaps it's just what they say about growing old: Some of your personality traits tend to become accentuated -- the moody become downright grumpy, the frugal pinch even more pennies. I've become more environmentally conscious (amongst other things, but that's the trait I'm choosing to highlight here). What started with recycling back in the early '80s has turned into planting trees after every plane flight and, just recently, replacing almost every one of my commercial household cleaners with homemade, environmentally friendly versions.

Some of the concoctions -- I tried almost every trick I mention in the article -- were surprising, most notably the furniture polish made of lemon juice and olive oil, which looked more appropriate for that night's pasta than my precious wood armoire. But I was shocked how well it worked. Even my real-wood Ikea products look tons prettier. And the boiling baking soda trick worked such wonders in the microwave that several of my friends scurried home to try for themselves.

One of the sources I didn't mention in the article came from the UK Guardian, which I omitted due to the tendency of newspaper URLs to change frequently and, therefore, cause a dead link in my copy. Here it is, dead link in my blog be damned: http://environment.guardian.co.uk/ethicalliving/story/0,,1994096,00.html. I'm actually quite impressed with the Guardian's Ethical Living section in general and am wondering if it's just the publication's stance or a reflection of the country's increasing environmentalism that prompted the addition to the paper.

What else have I been doing to reduce my carbon footprint? As much as I can, which I still feel isn't nearly enough. Sure, I bought a Prius, but I've doubled my commute, and I haven't cut my fuel consumption in half. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, have replaced most of my paper-towel use with reusable cloths, started practicing more-conscientious shopping (e.g., choosing items with less packaging, local produce, animal-friendly companies), etc. But what the hell else can you do, aside from dropping out of society and joining an island tribe (which I haven't entirely ruled out)?

I'd move, in order to cut my commute, but that would mean living in the Valley. And that's going too far, even for me.

Why I Rule: Reason #465

As I've grown older, I've also grown more precautious. I no longer leap off cliffs (as I did in Brazil to celebrate my 21st year on the planet), run off to foreign countries to chase rock stars, or drive my car at breakneck speeds around sharp turns (as I once did in my Firebird on the road around the Jones Beach Obelisk, scaring the bejebus out of my pal Dimi, whose nails left permanent marks in Bertha's upholstery). But there are times I still take the odd risk, whether that be jumping into a shark cage or, as I did this evening, doing my own plumbing.

I've always said that I'd never screw with plumbing or electrical work, but tonight I found myself with a clogged drain that spat up nastiness from within my garbage disposal for a good hour. A few oddities floated up out of the works, including several pieces of intact plastic knives (I don't use plasticware) and a disfigured, slightly hairy mass that at one time may have been a small child. I considered calling in an expert, then remembered that, hell, 11 years ago, I installed my own toilet. I could handle a little drain clog.

And although I rarely trust the Internet for important information, I decided to give it a shot, searching several trusted sites on how to rid my sink of the mass within my kitchen pipes. Then, thinking ahead for just a second, I called my local Home Depot and was soon put in touch with Ricardo the Plumbing Wizard. He assured me that I could handle this simple project on my own and, after scooting over to meet the wizard in person and buying a wrench, I headed home, certain I was up to the task.

If you ever decide to unclog your own trap, do so slowly. I loosened the plastic rings around the pipes a little too quickly, only to watch a fount of foul water bubble up and over the tray I'd laid out to catch leaks. The cause of the clog was soon evident: uncooked brown rice that I'd poured down the disposal after discovering my new Ralphs purchase was infested with six-legged invaders. I tossed the muck, screwed the pipes back together, and voilà! Cleared drain.

Sort of. I began scrubbing the pan I'd used to cook tonight's homemade Thai spicy mint tofu, only to watch my sink's water levels rise as if I were in steerage on the Titanic. I surmised that there was more rice in the trap, performed pipe surgery a second time (more slowly than the first), and my drain has been clear the rest of the evening. (Of course, my next post may very well be "Why I Suck: Reason #2," but I'm being unusually optimistic.)

And Reason #466: I finished an online crossword in 3:55, an all-time best. Rawk on.

New Hue

This weekend I learned two very valuable lessons: 1. Paint samples are worth much more than the few dollars they cost. 2. It is always a good idea to bring the gay husband (the Will to my Grace) when choosing paint colors. If only I'd learned this wisdom before I spent several hours applying an alien-green paint to my bathroom. I thought I was just tired last night and that the greenish tinge my complexion had taken on was a figment of my imagination, having looked at far too many paint chips that day. But no, it was my bile-green bathroom reflecting onto my skin like nuclear afterglow. So now, after visiting my third Home Depot in as many days, I have a very satisfying shade of "celery bunch" covering the offensive "honeydew." Only one more coat to go! I'll be in bed by 2:30. No problem.

Now, if anyone knows how to get these stripped screws (yet another fabulous legacy of the idiot who previously lived here) out of my bathroom cabinets, I'll buy you a six pack. Not only did he strip the screws, he painted over them -- several times -- so that I had to use three applications of stripper (the paint variety) just to get down to the metal, only to find they'd already been stripped (the far worse metal variety). (Yes, there's been a lot of stripping in my life this weekend. Unfortunately, it was of the noxious fumes kind.) Anyone want a six pack of the beer of your choice?

First pic: the retina-burning "honeydew." Second pic: the much more pleasant "celery bunch." (Work still in progress. Please ignore mess and painter's tape.)