The floor is coming to get me...
My friends Boegle and Tyler have told me the story of consulting with their real estate agent before moving to Portlandia. This real estate person suggested that if they want to buy an early craftsman or late Victorian house (of which there are quite a few in Portland), then they should first pick up a nail gun, and drive a few nails through their hands.
This would approximate the pain they would go through in terms of the work needed to bring that house up to anything resembling modern life.
So Saturday, I had my nail gun up and running, and was firing it into the lovely quarter-round I was using to hide the edges of the laminate floor I had just put in, all the while thinking how our contractor had screwed us up with their innovative solution to our problem of bizarre wall-covering laid over mdf (instead of drywall): more drywall on top. Yes, they pretty much matched it against the old moulding, which was simple 1x4s or 1x6s, but jeebus, what was wrong with what we agreed on, which was "strip everything off and start from bare studs?"
Now I have to be creative in terms of putting in new door moulding, and trying not to make the door jambs look a foot thick, and also adding enough embellishment to the floor mouldings, because the old moulding doesn't absorb paint the way that drywall does - there's a distinct difference. Plus you want at least a little arteestical effort. Which we've solved, but will take a good bit of (extra) work to achieve.
One element of fun in all of this is the Muzzle. AKA Georgie Muzzlepuff, the new cat. He has zero sense of his surroundings, so when we play with him, we have to be careful not to direct his play towards anything he might land on after one of his spectacular, devil-may-care leaps while going after the Feather or Lasermouse. It's a not uncommon sight for him to run full speed after the red dot of lasermouse, slamming headfirst into a door. The new floor is a slick as an oily steel plate, and he can't stop himself easily. So when we play with Feather overhead, he runs, jumps, lands on his ass, slides halfway across the floor trying to stop and turn. Pure, 3-Stooges joy.
So anyway, I was looking at my nail gun...