Originally intended to document my experience of DeLorean ownership, focus is often radical and strange, boring and obtuse.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Sanyo PLV-Z3000 - Some Serious Shit

I loved my Sanyo phone so much, I decided they can probably make a half-decent HD projector.

Thanks to the Sanyo PLV-Z3000, the sweetest full 1080p projector in all the kingdom, I will soon be seeing some serious shit of my own as Doc Brown punches his Time Machine to 88 mph - in just over one thousand seventy nine lines of HD resolution.

After nearly 7 and one third months of exciting research, I narrowed down my home theatre projector choices to the Sanyo Z3000, the Mitsubishi HC5500, and the most highly acclaimed projector ever, the Panasonic PT-AE3000U.

I decided against the 3-LCD Panasonic for two reasons. First, it cost a couple hundred dollars more than the Sanyo. And in order to acquire the extra cash I would've had to mug at least three little old Nonnas. Ethically, I see nothing wrong with mugging the geriatric grannies. In fact, I'd be racist... er... age-ist if I avoided them simply because of their elderlyness. So what's the reason? I wouldn't be able to handle all the punching, kicking and screaming. All that violence is too much for a tiny stick boy like me.

I'm fragile. Like a flower.

The second reason is because I cannot trust those engineering clowns at Panasonic after our nightmarish experience with our massive P.O.S. 1080i Panasonic TV. The first TV, purchased back in '02 was in the repair shop more than it was in our living room. After 2 years it was eventually replaced under warranty when the entire picture tube failed. And the replacement hasn't been all that much better in the 5 years we've had it.

I am a big fan of Mitsubishi, as I drive a most excellent one every day. In fact, my love for them is so strong that if Mitsubishi ever delved into the world of consumables, I'd eat their hot dogs and wouldn't ever question what kind of meat they used.

Sanyo Z3000 - a handsome projector with no aerodynamic silliness.But I did not choose the 3-LCD Mitsubishi HC5500, primarily because of the poor price/feature ratio. For a couple thousand dollars less, the Sanyo is the industry's first projector to have 5:5 pulldown (120 HZ) and creative frame interpolation (See www.projectorcentral.com). Additionally, it beat the Mitsubishi's contrast by a large margin, Panasonic's by a bit, and offered 3 full years warranty coverage vs. Mitsubishi's two, and Panasonic's pathetic one year.

Why LCD? Not because it stands for Liquid Crystal Deadliness. No. But I did breifly consider a DLP (Digital Light Processing) projector. I was tempted because I found a few, probably manufactured by Satan, for less than half the price of the good LCD's: For example, the $1,400 InFocus X-10, at TigerDirect.ca.

However, I ultimately decided against that entire technology as I am highly aware of, and susceptible to the dreaded "rainbow effect" that their colour wheel produces. Being vulnerable to rainbows, I'd make a rotten Leprechaun.

The sweet Sanyo is filling my tum-tum with butterflies. But I can't relax yet. I've still got a lot of drywall to hang before I can sit back with a tasty beverage and a Mitsubishi-brand footlong and watch the Z3000 project its high def awesomeness in my basement home theatre.

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Friday, January 30, 2009

Self-Entertainment

Strapping holes in concrete filled with Stuff It insulating foam and random severed body parts.

When I’m not too busy eating delicious pie or screaming about horrible zombies, (which, as you know, are my two main hobbies in life) you can find me working on my basement renovation. This is a serious activity, and as such, does not typically contain - or contribute to - humourous events. That’s not to say that pie and zombies are not serious. In fact, they are two of the three most serious things the human race has ever encountered.

When your surroundings are not funny, like today, you can simply close my blog and read another. However, when my surroundings are not funny, such as when I am working in my basement, I am forced to entertain myself.

I repeatedly hear this story from my old friend BPZ (Baseball Player Zombie from 2005’s Zombie walk). I vaguely remember it, as intoxication hampered my memory retention that night. However, the story goes something like this:

Working in the basement requires proper head protection. Safety first kids!BPZ, a little inebriated, was attempting to hold a conversation with me regarding noxious gas clouds threatening the lives of cosmonauts. Okay, no, our conversation wasn’t about Russian space farts. In fact, I am pretty sure I wasn’t even involved in the witless conversation at all. But BPZ tried to include me in it. Much to his disappointment, and curiosity, I could not be convinced to join the discussion.

You see, I was too busy laughing my head off, in the corner, by myself. When confronted by BPZ, I had to admit: I was telling myself jokes. Dead baby jokes. You know the ones. They’re terribly inappropriate.

When working alone in the basement, I continue my tradition of self-entertainment by whistling and singing songs in my head. But you won’t catch me singing such ditties as Beyonce’s newest piece of crap, “if you like it then you should’ve put a ring on it...” or Ms. Spears’ unlistenable, “all eyes on me in the centre of the ring just like a circus...”

Nope. I like classics.

Come visit me any day of the week and you will find me thinking, whistling and humming “Who puts the future in your hands? Robotix, Robotix! Who gives you robots to command? Robotix, Robotix!” as well as “You run, you slide, you hit the jump and take a dive!” Not to mention the classic do-do-dodododo-do-do-do-do circus tune. American's MAY be able to view it here. Us shivering Canadians are not permitted.

Yes, that’s what it takes to entertain me. Jingles like, “Eight hundred five eight eight, two three hundred, Empire today!” not only help to pass the time, but also distract me from the wretched zombies clawing at my windows. And more importantly, remind me of who to call for carpet when I finish my renovation.

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Monday, June 09, 2008

Murphy's Law At Its Best

Floors are under x2 - Underfoot and underappreciated.

Murphy is an asshole. And his law just plain sucks.

When I began my basement renovation I did what Batman does. I "be prepared." I have to admit something - I hate looking like the court jester. I hate making a mistake and having someone else arrogantly claim, "Oh, I knew that would happen."

So, when I demo'd my basement a year and a half ago, I prepared by watching the walls. With each thunderstorm, April shower or minor drizzle I monitored the walls for dampness. Every time there was a spring thaw, I slapped on my Sherlock-style cap and vigilantly poked and prodded, looking for a sign of water.

The wettest months, March and April 2007 passed without a hint of moisture. March and April 2008 were virtual carbon copies. Based on three years of dry basement life, I was confident the north-facing wall was safe. But that wasn't enough for me.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Overkill is cool.

Considering our house was built in 1939 with spongecrete er, concrete block foundation, I decided to waterproof the walls for that sleep-soundly-at-night-knowing-my-sugar-collection-won't-be-ruined confident feeling.

It only took me a day to waterproof the wall with Blue Seal, an environmentally friendly, no VOC polymer. During the month it took to cure, it survived 3 major thunderstorms. I confidently erected (tee hee) the framing, insulated, and began the tile work.

Having remarkable trouble with our tile installer (imagine a professional who says it's impossible to tile around a floor drain, who tells me he "hates this bullshit job", looks at our tile and says "you gotta be kidding me! I can't tile the floor with these!" then suddenly changes his mind, who randomly mixes up the order things need to be completed in, breaks my marble, milks my goat and does something even worse to my donkey, just to name a few of the problems) I didn't think things could get worse.

But they did.

Today the tile installer finally started. Today he laid most of the floor and even brought a friend to assist him. It was the first day I didn't have an arguement with him about something. It was the first day I felt good about the whole tile situation.

And today, of all the days in all the years anybody's ever lived here, for the first time ever and in spite of the waterproofing, a 10 minute thunderstorm unloaded half an inch of water into the bathroom, over the freshly laid tile, through the new framing, and right into my neatly propped up drywall.

This mini-flood invoked both curses and an unfathomable amount of anger which revealed my superhero powers - strength - as I valiantly moved the washer and dryer which, the day before, required my dad's help; as I brutally hoisted three full sheets of drywall up and quickly jammed a towel under the bottom edge; and as I punched a hole through Murphy's (of Murphy's Law fame) head.

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Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Bathroom Renovation Update

Wooden sticks. Kindling to some. A home to others.

To say I'm burning the candle at both ends would be an understatement. With a looming deadline for finishing the bathroom in my basement, interrupted by a vacation to Gettysburg, PA, I'm napalming the candle at both ends.

Each night for the past 3 weeks I've been up till about 1 a.m. Nineteen of those nights I've been hard at work. One of those nights we saw Indiana Jones Quatre (that means 4), and the other night we went to a CD-release party for our friend, Dave Gould, who is the most phenomenal drummer I've. Ever. Seen.

Period.

However, thanks to my long nights and early mornings, the framing for my bathroom is complete, including some heavy duty forms in the shower. I even built myself a little inset shelf that will also be tiled. And when it is, it will be more than little. It'll be so small I'll be forced to wash my hair with either Pert Plus, Head & Shoulders, or basically anything that comes in a single bottle.

I didn't really misjudge that so much as I ran out of room because of the foundation of the house. Sure, moving the shelf was a possibility, but the Smurfs came on TV and the next thing I knew I stopped caring.

My neighbour, a Master electrician, is basement-bound this week for the wirification of the illumination devices. Insulation and drywall will hopefully be completed on the weekend, giving me just enough time to have Atilla the tile dude finish the job before we head to Pennsylvania.

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Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Yeah I'm Bad, But Not Racist

Photobucket

I admit it. I've been bad. I've neglected my blog like the red-headed step-child. But I have a good excuse. It's the in-laws fault.

In mid-June Suz's family will be coming to stay with us when her cousin Vicki, and Ryan, get married. For that event I will require two working bathrooms to prevent raunch build-up and eliminate lengthy shower queues. So the clock is ticking to get the excrement disposal unit working in the basement.

Using my handy demolition skills, I've converted the once useable basement into a dump. A dumpster will soon fill our driveway so I can haul away the piles of debris which currently make it almost impossible to walk through the basement.

The floor was poured in two separate pours, so we had a giant gap that my dad and I filled with the-most-depressing-shade-of-grey-you've-ever-seen concrete. It will be a nice contrast to the completed floor, which will be the most exciting shade of beige carpeting you've ever seen.

Tonight we indulged in a shopping spree, acquiring large quantites of white drywall, pink insulation, yellow lumber, and white Kohler products. A nice 32" bathroom door and a 32" French door for the laundry room rounded out the load. Not bad as far as diversity goes.

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Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Mystery Socks

Martha Stewart is great at finding undiscovered storage areas in your home.

Currently, my basement resembles a dungeon, and it has nothing to do with the upcoming Halloween season. The stench is awful, and the crumbling grey plaster walls are depressing. Dead bodies would feel right at home here.

The reason for the mess is that I'm in the middle of renovating my basement. And I'm doing the work by myself, partially because I can't afford to hire someone, and partially because I'm pretty darn handy.

After all, I've got more than the U.S. national average of 1.998 hands. (calculated using statistics on this website and assuming a U.S. population of 301,000,000.

Using my hands, I tore down the ceiling in my laundry room and discovered a surprise. Unfortunately, it wasn't anything super awesome like a box of 65-year-old photos, an antique melonballer or a sack of shiney gold looted from some angry-ass Pirates with an average of 1.998 eyes.

It was socks.

The socks were rolled up, sitting on top of a heating duct. They were covered in a thick layer of dark dust. When I unfolded them, they wanted to keep their rolled-up shape.

The socks were thin. The material was 100% synthetic. They were not enjoyable the way a melonballer would be. After giving some thought to the mystery socks - wondering how they got up there, who put them there, and how old they were - I threw them out.

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