Category: tunes

Music. Bands. Songs. Concerts.

Posted on

wall to wall

Up against it.
A solid week of writing! Break out the bubbly, it’s on again!

This morning kinda blew. After checking the weather forecast, I donned shorts instead of jeans because it was gonna be in the high 70s in the afternoon. I normally don’t care if it’s in the low 50s when I go to work, I’m only exposed to the elements on the short walk from my truck to the building, and being a tad cold for thirty seconds is much better to me than being hot all afternoon. Anyway, I coupled a Hawaiian shirt with the shorts, not because of the high 70s, but just because it was the best my clean shirts had to offer (still haven’t done the post-Shanghai wash). So, when I went outside and passed the morning couples out for a walk and kids at the bus stop all bundled up for winter with coats and long pants, I began to feel pretty stupid about my dress. When something gets a toehold in my self-conscienceness like that, it’s pretty tough to ignore. I seriously considered flipping a U and heading back home to change into jeans and a polo – but didn’t. That, and traffic was crappy, and I forgot to put some lotion on that little patch of dry skin at the bottom of my hairline on the back of my neck.

At work we use Netmeeting a lot to collaborate for “virtual” phone-conference meetings. If you’ve never used it, it’s just a way to share your PC with others – so they can see whatever you see, good for sharing presentations or whatever. But, sharing your entire desktop comes with problems, as everyone viewing your PC sees whatever comes across on your PC. As a prank, sometimes I’ll send random instant messages to my friends just to see if I can catch them while they’re sharing or presenting. Imagine, a little popup window saying “You suck” for all to see as you’re making your big presentation. Today I went Netmeeting fishing with Pat, sending him the rather innocent message “suck it.” I didn’t catch him sharing, but I did start a pretty funny dialog where we each tried to come up with the best one-liners for Netmeeting fishing. Some of the better ones:

“You were so wasted last night.”
“I tested positive for herpes.”
“I can’t believe you’re gay.”
“Missed you at AA.”
“No, I’m not interested in buying GHB.”
“You left your thong.”
“That condom broke!”
“Stop sending me kiddie porn.”
“What’d you do with her body?”
“HR and security are looking for you.”
“How’s the diarrhea?”
“Your mom says ‘hi.'”
“Wow, I’ll bring my spare boxers right over.”

I’ve been listening to the new Wolf Parade record forever now, and am pretty sure of its spot in the eventual “best of” list for 2005 – unless something much sweeter comes along in the month or two left. Lately though, I’ve been rehashing some older gems, cutting the the bumps of bleeding-edge indie with some of the classics I’ve enjoyed for years. Listened to some vintage Stones the other night, some Dark Side of the Moon, y’know – the timeless stuff. But, if these new Strokes cuts keep leaking at the pace they have been, the whole album will be online sooner or later – and maybe then I can use it to wean me off mama Wolf. Man, what a waste of a paragraph – my apologies.

Sharaun and I went on a nice little “date” tonight, dinner and furniture shopping. We were looking for something to fill out the big empty living room where only the Pac Man machine lives currently. As much as I, for some reason, hate them, we’re looking to get a sleeper-sofa for that room – now that the “spare” room is gonna belong to Lil’ Chino. It’s funny, we’ll only be three people, and one of those just a tiny little thing, but for some reason we’re both already thinking about outgrowing the house. Now, that’s a spoiled American thing if there ever was one… this little house could comfortably accommodate several people. Families of five used to live in one-room cabins no bigger than our garage in the pioneer days, tsk tsk… so spoiled. Hey bearded dude living in that cardboard box, you can have this huge house – we don’t have a dedicated room for guests anymore so we can’t use it. Sometimes I make me sick.

Ignore the entry below this in regards to the actual flow of time, I had to stick the “best of” thing somewhere. Have a good weekend folks, I’m out.

Posted on

ivy covered tears

Stoopid and dum.
Another evening spent with friends drinking beer and eating food; I live a decent life, y’know?

So yeah, this new Wolf Parade album is good, I can’t argue with that. It reminds me of the Arcade Fire; it reminds me of Modest Mouse; it’s way better than their last album (unless I just dismissed it without enough focus, which is entirely possible). Anyway, I’m diggin’ this new one a lot.

I read this page with interest the other day, casting my memory back to my days as a young engineer-in-training. I graduated high school in the top ten of my class, which I don’t think really says much… that shit was so laughably easy anyone willing to go one bongless night a week had a shot at valedictorian. After high school, I decided to take a full scholarship to the local community college – and buy CDs with the living expense and book stipends while staying at home with my folks. Two years at this high-school+ didn’t really give my brain much of a workout above and beyond what high school had. I still skipped class 50% of the time, crammed the night before exams, and basically stood laughing and masturbating on the supposedly college-level course material. (Dave, why did you say “masturbating” in that last sentence? Man, that’s a good question… I think I used it to communicate just how ridiculous what was supposed to be “higher education” was, and to show my complete lack of respect for it.) Anyway, two years walking the not-so-hallowed halls of that GED warehouse and I was on my way to a real school, a state school.

Somewhere along the line, I’d decided I wanted to be a math major. I ate up math; loved it hardcore. I wanted to get deep into the fringe maths, Galois Theory, automoprhisms, all that abstract stuff. However, shortly before I actually had to register for classes at State U, I realized that there was no money in math. There was, however, money in other math-intensive fields like engineering. I liked computers, I liked math – computer engineering seemed right. So, I set about enrolling for all the courses I’d need to get on the path to my newly chosen degree. That first year, I had to take a few “general education” courses that didn’t fully transfer from my fake-college – namely Physics I & II. In high school, I was a physics champeen… I rocked that dang class. Came out with a shiny new A and carried it through the year. That is to say, the prospect of taking physics at State U did not scare me in the least.

Oh shit was I naive. Physics at State U kicked my ass. I had never really heard the term “weed out class” before, but apparently State U made the “pre” engineering degree courses harder than a Viagra overdose victim’s peener to try and “filter” out those prospects who might not have the gumption to complete the higher level courses. Physics at State U was effing torture. I couldn’t believe it, I used to be good at this stuff… what was wrong with me? My first semester at “real” college – I bombed Physics I. The same simple Newtonian stuff I breezed through in high school mopped the floor with me at State U. Not even six months into college-proper and I’d already permanently damaged my GPA. I was thrown for a loop, and considered whether I was really cut out for an engineering degree. However, I decided to have another go at it – and the second time I made it. Physics II was no walk in the park either, and Statics put me through the wringer again… nearly handing me my 2nd F. Thusly, I came to realize – I was not good at physics at all; in fact, I sucked at physics. I made a mental note to stay away from all physics… as I just couldn’t get it, no matter how hard I tried. I mean, it’s statics folks, everything equals zero. How hard can a math class be where you always know that whatever you write down will equal zero?! I’ll tell you: frickin’ hard.

There were some bright spots, I trounced Differential Equations, dominated Discrete Mathematics, and walked all over Statistics (not the wimpy statistics, the one taught through the mathematics department – with triple integrals and shit). But for the most part, the College of Engineering kicked my ass. I mean, at certain points throughout my quest for a degree I literally thought I would have a breakdown. The workload often kept me up till the AMs, and I always had the feeling that the material was on the very fringes of my ability to comprehend and process. At one point I was loaded down with 16 credit hours, in a vain attempt to make up for the failed physics class, and I did have a true breakdown. Here I was, twenty-something years old and crying on my bed that I couldn’t do it, that it was too hard. For me at least, it really was that hard. Because of this, my stellar standards of high school performance didn’t carry through to college – and I ended up with a degree that was a year and a half late in coming and a GPA that demonstrated the hanging-on-by-fingernails nature of my accomplishments. Somehow though, I managed to keep my scholarship the entire time (they lowered the required GPA the semester I bombed physics, pursuant to the serendipitous nature of my life)… and didn’t end up too terribly in the hole for my ass-whooping of an education. And what’s more, I was an engineer! I had a paper from State U that said so, and I knew words like inductance and linked-list.

I wanted to write more, but then I decided that this was enough. Goodnight.

Posted on

x-rated

Steamy.
Slump in full effect, I came home early today. For some reason, I got to writing… and the following was what resulted. And, despite the title, it’s no Penthouse Forum… but I suppose it could leave you nostalgic for those red-cheeked teenage days spent in backseats and darkened theaters. Enjoy.

So we found ourselves alone in some alley behind the buildings, not the most romantic place. It was in one of those “old town” places that plenty of American towns have. The throwback towns, facades crafted to recall the glory days… packed with specialty shops and antique stores, little cafes and toys tores where everything is wood and handmade. The kind of place where they have annual street parties with vendors and open markets – you know, Old Town. Ahem… so there we were, in the alley, not the most romantic place. Thankfully, romance has nothing to do with lust and sex. Against the dirty stucco wall I held her arms to her side and kissed her. At least a foot shorter than me, I had to stoop while turning my tongue over in her mouth. Her boyfriend was out there somewhere, on the other side of these buildings somewhere. Her boyfriend and my girlfriend, my friend and her friend, our friends. My hand wandered under her shirt, pressed the soft skin of her side; still kissing. Being so wrong made it so fun, they were right out there somewhere; could turn the corner into this alley at any moment; could find us. What if she tastes you on my lips?

Later that night our double date to the go-cart track and arcade place on the beach, where all the cool kids go. You know the place, the one with the mini-golf course that has a volcano and a windmill, and the huge maze you can pay $2 to run through. The maze full of twists and turns and dead-end presswood walls painted in circus colors. Grab my hand, let’s get lost, they are in here somewhere too… this could be even better than the alley. These presswood walls don’t even extend to the ground, feet run by on the either side. Hearing shouts and talking as people rushed past us, yellow and blue presswood walls separating them from us. Us: the four feet on the other side of the wall from them. The four feet that weren’t moving at all, the four feet that were standing still and, if you listened close, making hushed gasps for breath between sloppy kisses. They’re in here somewhere, running through these same presswood walls, separated from the ones they held hands with on the way in tonight; they’re in here looking. Any minute now they could turn the corner into our three-walled presswood room. You actually listened to me on the phone this afternoon and wore the overalls, they are always the easiest to get into. Down the side, I slip my hand between the denim and your skin. What if he smells you on my fingers?

The preceding paragraphs, while fine enough on their own, could stand for a bit of background: When I was 15 or so (pre-driving, if I remember right), I was dating a girl. And, as often goes in early teen relationships, one of my closest buddies at the time was dating one of my girlfriend’s close buddies. It was the kind of thing that worked well for double-dates and whatnot, teenagers eat that crap up.

Standing in a field a mile from anywhere in every direction. We brought a blanket and some soda. The sun is shining bright and it’s not cool, it’s downright hot. You smelled so good; clean and fresh, and your light brown hair was newly washed and dried, shining in the sun and sticking a little to your damp forehead. The heat from our walk makes your scent stand out, stirred up with sweat and wafting upward. Standing, I look down on you, your fingers working my zipper, pulling my shorts to my ankles. Your lips pink and full from kissing, the blanket tousled from our rolling around. As I stand, I shoot defiant glances into the the distance; the trees and tall grass where anyone could be watching – but no one is. I look up to the clear blue sky, the birds our only audience. Us: the birds and I, we watch from above, watch your mouth work. At this moment, if I’m not king of the world then no one is. That day, in the woods, my open eyes watched her closed ones; her head moving slowly at my waist as I gathered and caressed handfuls of her hair – truly king of the world for the moment.

The preceding paragraph, while fine enough on its own, could stand for a bit of background: When you are too young to get a hotel room or go back to each other’s apartments – you turn to the woods. All kids should get to make out in the woods, there’s nothing that compares to being half naked and experiencing first sins alone in the wilderness; pine needles sticking to exposed skin as you moan and pant like TV has taught you. That particular day in the woods stands out, and was with that first girlfriend from above – pre double affair.

Enough of this filth!

Even though PF and other music ‘zines have lauded his every effort, I’ve never been able to get into nouveau-folkie Devendra Banhart that much. Oh sure, I downloaded all the albums and listened to them diligently. I could hear talent, but they were just a little too slow for me – maybe it was a temporal thing, sometimes uber-slow or sober albums only work during certain times of year or under certain circumstances. So, when I read the expectedly glowing review of Cripple Crow, his latest effort, I wasn’t surprised. I figured I should follow the drill though, download the album give it a fair shake, and delete it a week later. This time though, the planets were aligned, the time was high, whatever – and the album hit me just right. This is a solid album, reminding me most of Donovan, and at times Dylan or the stripped-down component-Beatles of the White Album. (And I swear I wrote my review before reading PF’s, it’d take an idiot to not compare this to Donovan, Dylan, and the Fabs.) Oh, and I just found out that my newly-loved Field Music album is made up of members of other bands… who’d’a thunk?

Goodnight.

Posted on

homeland security


Back in the good ol’ US-of-A after a long week in Taiwan, mostly spent not blogging.

Y’know, I’m not one of those folk who put a lot of stock in vitamin supplements, herbs, fish oils or flax seed. However, I do take a daily multivitamin; and I actually think it does some good. For example, while in Taiwan last week, I made sure I faithfully took my two Mega Man pills a day – I have this unspoken (until now) fear that, should I forget them one day, I would somehow be sapped of strength and energy. This becomes more important when trying to keep the sleepless pace of a “business trip” to Taiwan. Part of the reason I have confidence in the power of my Mega Man is because, anomalous or not (but almost certainly so), my last couple cases of the common cold have happened to manifest right after I’ve run out of them. I did entertain the idea that perhaps GNC actually puts some common cold bacteria in each pill, but also puts in enough common cold antidote (something that exists only in this particular evil-GNC fantasy) in each to stave off contraction. Then, when you run out of pills, the virus can take root… or something like that. So, conspiracy or not – I fell for the Mega Man bit 100%. Wait, was this paragraph going anywhere?

Come October 7th, we’ll be able to schedule our sex-ID sonogram for Lil’ Chino; that’s two weeks from today (right?). This is the sonogram where we’ll be able to tell how sexy Lil’ Chino will be. I have my own thoughts, being that he’ll be the offspring of super-sexy me and uber-sexy Sharaun – but, from what I’ve heard, the sonogram will be able to tell us for sure. I’ll figure he’ll swagger out of my wife’s vagina, swishing a gold cane in front of him; wearing a crushed velvet smoking jacket and smoking a cigarette, faint echoes of Barry White wafting from his former home. The nurses will immediately faint at the sight of his thick, luxurious, and impeccably styled quaff, and his jewel-encrusted umbilical cord will fetch thousands at Christies. What? That’s not what the sonogram is about? Really? Oh; I see. I guess it’ll be good to know if he’s a boy or girl too – but I think the sexy test would be better.

I was forced to watch the Emmy’s last night. Oh. My. God. I sat through the opening “performance” by Earth Wind & Fire and the Black Eyed Peas – where they changed the words to one of those super-recognizable EW&T “smooth jams” from words about love and humpin’ to words about TV and TV shows. Seriously people. The Black Eyed Peas were up there rhyming about Everybody Loves Raymond and Desperate Housewives. Man, I hope those guys got paid a buttload of money for that – as it was one of the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen in a while. I was actually embarrassed for the Black Eyed Peas up there, spitting game about such gritty “keepin’-it-real” topics as Must See TV and TGIF. It’s a good thing the BEP aren’t a real rap/hip-hop outfit and don’t expect to be taken seriously, that way they don’t run the risk of ruining their reputation as serious artists. For real, I heard they’ll rap about Gynolotramin and Preparation H if the check is big enough.

Listening to McCartney’s new album… y’know, because my love for music was born with, and will always be with, his early efforts with the best band in the history of time: the Beatles. Macca’s solo output over the years has been hit or miss for me. The early stuff was great, and some of the pre-late-70s Wings is simply outstanding. Then there’s the albums I don’t know very well, and don’t dig that much. I adored Flaming Pie, and then there was that last one that was OK. First listen to this one and I dunno… some slow jams, some rock tinkering, but it’s most assuredly McCartney. I’ll reserve judgment until I can manage a few more listenings. But either way – rock on Sir Paul, glad to see you still turning out wax.

Goodnight folks, I love ya all.

Posted on

output enabling

Patterns... mmmm...
Wednesday already, wow. Two more days and I’m off to Taiwan [cut to stock footage: Dave wants to go, but also doesn’t want to go]. Sitting at home and having a beer after a strange day of “now I’m a manager” realizations at work… where I’m finally realizing I have to “let go” of the stuff I used to covet and start focusing on more intangible things. For someone that craves the little gold stars on the top of good work, it’s a tough transition. Scary, actually, when your goals shift from a personal-output-based model to an output-you-enabled one. I take heart, though, that I at least “get” that, and that I’m cognizant enough to recognize and do my best to address it.

So yeah, I’m late to the Cloud Room party… dunno what happened there – guess you can’t be first to every party. Another one of the out-of-the-bowels-of-NYC wunderkind, their debut single is impossible to hate… seriously, listen to it try to think nasty thoughts about it. Put it on your headphones and think about punching it in the face, see how impossible it is. Give it a spin and try and make a disparaging remark about its mother, you won’t be able to; the dang thing is disarming. I say we give this track to the Army, have them aim humongous loudspeakers at Al Qaeda training camps, and play it over and over again. Then, rather than ascribe to extremist Muslim theology, prospective terrorists will instead clasp hands and dance around euphorically in a circle, smiling ear-to-ear while singing “… we’re goin’ downtown, take the bus there, pay the bus fare!!…” in broken English. It’s OK terrorists; it’s OK that your body wants to bounce around in its seat, OK that you “duh-duh-duh” along with the bassline, it really is OK – Allah said so, he digs the Cloud Room too – I saw him at the show at CBGB last week… he really knows how to let his turban down.

This weekend, I was finally able to see Sharaun’s pooch. Wow, that sounds massively dirty… but I assure you it’s much more academic than that. What I mean is, I can now see the beginnings of Lil’ Chino’s expanding 9-month lease. To me, this is huge; this is what I’ve been waiting for – even more validation than the indisputable ultrasound images we got weeks ago. Her growing belly is the physical evidence of progress that I’ve been craving! It puts my mind at ease, and makes me tingle with a heady mixture of anticipation and pride. It really is impossible I explain, I think, what a brick-wall realization it is. Lil’ Chino is more than halfway here… 55% here, to be exact. Thinking about February, it still seems interminably far away… but more than ever I’m realizing it’ll be on us in a flash. I guess I won’t even fully understand it until it happens, 5-months and counting in some semi-disconnected state of shock and no sign of the fog lifting in time. Bring it on, Lil’ Chino, bring it on.

Bedtime. Goodnight.

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dressed in cobra

Who cares, I'm going to bed.
Gonna try and make this an early-to-bed night, I have to be at the airport tomorrow for a 6:20am flight… which means leaving the house before 5am. Bummer. Another there-and-back-again one-day trip to Oregon, work crap. Then, we’re off to camp this weekend in the Sierra foothills of Northern California. Hopefully, we can get the gold equipment working: highbanker, pans, etc. Should be an interesting weekend if nothing else, and I’ll be glad to get away for a bit – even if the lawn does need mowing something awful.

I dunno; I’m not wholly opposed to rap as a form of music. But I’m not 100% why the new Kanye album is so good. Sure, there are some good tracks – but I’m not sure why it’s gush-worthy to the level of the reviews it’s been getting. I can appreciate things like stellar production, I really can. I like to think I’ve got an ear for an extremely well put-together album… something where the production is the keystone of the whole thing’s success. But I dunno, while the production on this album is indeed stellar, some of the tracks aren’t so noteworthy. Call me a hater, whatever you want, I guess I just can’t get as full and appreciate for rap as I can for more “rock ‘n’ roll” type jams. Sorry Kanye.

This page’s two-year anniversary is coming in a little under two weeks. The approaching milestone got me thinking statistics, and I looked back over the entirety of my written output – since I’ve been writing. I started my original journal in 1995, and wrote fairly faithfully through 2000 (exactly 100 pages worth). I started a new journal upon graduating college / getting married / moving to CA, that one covered 2000 to late 2002, clocking in around 200 pages. Then I guess I took a break. That 2nd journal goes through September 2002, and this page didn’t start until that same month, 2003. A one-year gap. I don’t remember taking a year off, I guess I just got wrapped up in other things. That would’ve been my “growth” years at work, where I was likely coming into my own in my role there. Who knows how long this one will last, two years is a good start. I’m sure I’ll have more to write about when Lil’ Chino gets here… so no worries I suppose.

Tonight I bought tickets to see Architecture in Helsinki at Slims in the city. I’m so pumped.

Goodnight.

Posted on

not really working

I'm sorry I worked late.
On her way home from a day subbing today, Sharaun stopped at Blockbuster to return a movie, and locked her keys in her car. Her keys, and her purse – containing her cellphone. Meanwhile, I stayed late at work, finishing up. I tried to call her several times, but with no way into the house and no cellphone – it wasn’t much use. When I finally decided to come home, around 7pm, she had been locked outside in the heat for over two hours. She spent her time walking around, and sleeping on the bare concrete of the front porch. I felt so sorry for her… I swear I was about to cry. Poor girl… I’ll never let her get a manual-locking car again.

Sitting at home, having gone into work for a couple hours before this appointment with the landscaper. He’s 15 minutes late; I wait, glancing out the window every few minutes expecting to see a truck. Passed the time unpacking from the weekend’s camping trip, making the dirty laundry hamper smell like a campfire. Lately, it seems that Fall is in the air. In the morning, the air is dry and cool, and I can even feel it sometimes in the day… when a cool breeze blows by or there’s a hint of something in the air. It’s coming soon, and I couldn’t be happier. It seems like we had the shortest summer ever this year, it stayed cool late and now I feel like it’s Falling-up early as well. Oh, I’m all for it – let’s not get that confused. The faster that magical season gets here, the happier I’ll be. Fall-thoughts got me thinking about February… when Lil’ Chino will arrive. Not Fall, but still part of the Fall-Winter cold-months… the time of year I love. Landscaper just called, gonna be another 20 minutes late; I’ll wait… work’s already bored me today.

I hate to say that albums “grew on me.” I always feel like I may be fooling myself; like I should trust my initial reaction and not “force” myself to get into something I didn’t like at first blush. To me, having an album “grow” on you is kinda like saying, “I didn’t like this album, but then everyone else did – so I listened to it until it was good.” It reeks of every-half-hour radio playlist mass-hypnotism type “hits.” But… then I thought about it in the context of beer. When I first tried beer, I hated it. Had to drink my first quart of Red Bull (the malt liquor, not the caffeine cough syrup stuff) over a sink, gagging a little with each gulp. But, everyone likes beer. Men drink it; it’s so cool. If you don’t like beer, you’re not right. So, I kept fighting down the beer. And now, years later, I’m gag-free, and often catch myself thinking how good a beer would taste in certain situations. So, likening an album’s “growing” on me to my coming-of-age taste for beer – I’ve somewhat legitimized the fact that the new New Pornographers album I spoke somewhat ill of last week has now become something I’m really enjoying. At times melodic enough to make me smile, it just keeps getting better. Dang… am I brainwashed?

Time to get another R.O.C entry and exit stamp in the passport, I’ll be boarding the plane before I know it. Off to Taiwan for another week of work and play. Work during the day, play at night, sleep when I can. It’s always like that I Taiwan. I have a small base of local friends there now, and I enjoy spending time with then when I can – which is always late-night. Tracy’s doing me a favor and getting me a local Taipei phone number, so I can pickup pre-charged SIM cards and have a local number people can call. That way, I can limit my transcontinental calls to the company calling card on landline phones… and avoid the highway-robbery international roaming rates the cell company charges – but I can still makes calls to local numbers. I think it’ll be a welcomed luxury. I wonder about travel after Lil’ Chino comes… I’ll likely want to do it less, and I’m sure Sharaun would want the same. I guess a week here and there isn’t too bad, but I don’t think I can keep up 2005’s pace. It’s OK really, I think the transition to management probably inherently means less personal travel, as you pass those opportunities onto the team; so, that fits. But I’ll still want to get back to Taiwan every now and again.

Noonish now, landscaper was badly late (is that proper English?). I walked around the backyard with him, pointing out what I saw as the remaining work, asking him to draw up the plan as a series of line-items, so I could pick and choose certain aspects of work if needed. Then I went inside and made a tuna sandwich while he measured and calculated. What surprised me the most, though, was that his plans to finish the yard were exactly what I’d planned to do. Modify the sprinkler heads, pour a border around the stones, bring in soil and add drainage, planter areas, etc. His plans were my plans, down to the last aspect. He also commented that my do-it-yourself work up to this point really wasn’t all that bad. My retaining wall had the proper drainage, was mostly level and true, and was set in the ground to a proper depth. My paver porch, although not 100% level, was properly sloped away from the house and crowned to the center – and would only get better with fill sand and plate compaction. My forethought to make the planter areas drip-ready (adding PVC “through” pipes under the pavers) was correct, and my cutting the downspout and routing it under the pavers was correct. My sprinkler heads to zone ratio was correct, as were my pressure calculations and water coverages per zone.

I actually thought this might happen; the landscaper coming and telling me how much money it would take to complete the work would stoke the fire within me to get it done myself. I don’t know though, it just seems like so much work. He did give me one more option for the paver border, which I hadn’t thought of yet. He suggested a cheaper alternative to the concrete border may be running a 3″ thick “plastic” bender board around the entire porch, and using a sledge to butt the pavers in tight before staking it every foot-and-a-half with steel stakes driven into the earth. This was interesting to me… as I have lots of steel stakes that I figured would sit unused after I was done with the yard. The stakes would be driven in to just below the level of the bender, and then left in the ground permanently with topsoil and turf hiding them in the finished version. That got me thinking… I could likely do that pretty easily – and I’m sure my cost for the 3″ bender would be a heck of a lot cheaper than theirs. I’d still have to reposition the sprinklers, add some drainage, till in topsoil, grade, and bring in sod. It’s a lot of work, and the guy said I could pick and choose any of his line items if I wanted some help getting the thing to a state where I’d once again feel confident taking over. That’s good, because, if I chose to go with his entire package, I’d be looking at a >$10,000 bottom line. Ouch.

Goodnight.