Fire BAD!

I finally got the kitchen walls and ceiling painted. Twice, actually. Originally, I was going to try some marble-glaze-sponge thing on the walls, leaving the ceiling white, so I got a fairly bright yellow, thinking that the glaze mix and application technique would tone it down a bit, and the color would be good for a solid coat on the trim at the top of the cabinets. A friend of mine told me that “a kitchen should be bold” and that “[she] trusts [my] intuition.” That second statement is indicative of a severe lack of judgement, which is consistent with her apparent willingness to go out with me for a spell back in the day. In any case, I would ask that any time I mention a paint project from now on, an intervention be planned before I have a chance to put brush to wall.

It turned out I didn’t have any glaze, so I mixed some white paint with the yellow. I also couldn’t find my painting sponge, so I just cut up a rag and did a little experimenting on the walls in the office. The Live Acorn was on the computer instant messaging and watching YouTube doing homework.

Dead Acorn: Well, what do you think?

Live Acorn: (30 second pause) Do you think it’s a little bright? And are you sure you want to go with that splotchy look?

Dead Acorn: Shut up!

Well, I went into the kitchen and tried it out on a spot behind the stove, and even I saw that this was not going to end well. I begrudgingly accepted defeat and consented to go with a solid color – after all, I’m just painting a kitchen, for gawdsake. It’s not like it’s someone’s castle.

Even after mixing two parts white with one part yellow, the result was … well, let’s say … disturbing. I’m pretty sure that particular shade of yellow had not existed in nature prior to then, and my eyes are still a little sensitive from the damage. Imagine a yellow canary, wearing a smiley-face t-shirt. In a supernova.

It wasn’t but a few minutes after I’d finished that I heard a ruckus out front and the doorbell ring. I opened the door to find a rather large mob gathered on my lawn. I recognized a few faces as neighbors.

Dead Acorn: Uh, hey, Jim … what’s up?

Jim: Well, Dead Acorn, I represent the Neighborhood Association here, and we need to talk to you.

DA: I wasn’t aware that we had a Neighborhood Association.

Jim: Yeah, well, we just formed it.

DA: Oh. Are those torches and pitchforks property of the Association, or are they individually owned? They’re a bit cliché-ish, if you ask me.

Jim: Can't say I disagree, Dead Acorn, but the other option was shotguns, and I was able to talk them out of that. Let’s just hope they don’t need to be used.

DA: Uhhhhhh …

Jim: Now look, Dead Acorn, nobody had a problem when you went cuttin' through your wall. A few people thought you were crazy, and some thought it was cute that you were trying to use power tools. Mostly, we didn’t think you were dangerous, and if you want to tear your house apart, well sir, you go right ahead.

Now, though, we got us a problem. You can paint your rooms any freaky color you want, but with that hole in the wall, everyone and his dog has to look at it, and I’ll tell you, a few of the dogs that seen it have already started actin' crazy, snappin' at ghosts and whatnot.

DA: But it’s only been that color for 15 minutes!

(There was some murmuring from the crowd, which seemed to be growing more and more restless. I heard someone yell “let’s just kick his ass!”, and I swear it sounded like P77, who lives a couple of blocks away.)

Jim: Dead Acorn, I’m not gonna argue with you here. We’re going to give you the same options as we gave ole Lester back in aught-three, when he decided he didn’t need to wear clothes in his house – he could get dressed, or he could pull them curtains closed. You can either close that hole back up, or you can change that color. It don't matter. But either way, you better get on it quick-like. Wood houses like this can catch fire pretty easy, if you know what I mean.

DA: I’m picking up what you’re putting down.

Jim: You sassin’ me?

DA: No sir.

So I rode down to the hardware store, got another gallon of paint, and redid the whole thing. There was very little violence (Mildred from down the street stuck her pitchfork through the passenger door of the grey ghost), the kitchen is actually tolerable now, and the hole in the wall remains.

The Neighborhood Association, strangely enough, seems to have disbanded.