The joys of home ownership -- updates from the new homestead

Okay, so the title of this little essay is a bit misleading on a number of points--a fact that I feel compelled to disclose for no other reason than that I am relentlessly detail-obsessed and a stickler for completion (which tends to drain the mystery out of things every once in a while, I'll admit).  First, the house that I just moved into isn't even close to new; it's 85 years old, the same age as my grandfather.  Second, although the adventure that I've recently embarked upon will eventually lead to home ownership, it's technically more accurate to acknowledge that Coldwell Banker mostly owns the house, and will continue to own some part of it for the better part of the next 30 years (or whenever I hand over that last mortgage payment).  Finally, although I intend to share several updates and observations about the house, I'm not actually writing from the house because I don't have Internet access set up there yet and probably won't for several more weeks.  I would disclose to you where I'm writing from but that could potentially get me in trouble.  (You know, misuse of company time and all that...)  Oops, I think I just gave it away.

Enough blabber and on to the details?  All right, all right!  The house is located in the very pretty Regent Square area of Pittsburgh, well-stocked with big old trees, brick streets, excellent beer (in vast quantities), gorgeous residential architecture galore, and a fine little theater.  There are other things in Regent Square, of course, but these are among the most important features.  My street is mostly quiet, carries very little through-traffic as it ends just one house down with the parking lot of an apartment complex, and is populated by scores of cats endlessly on the prowl and gazing lazily from front stoops.  (Then there are the ferocious middle-of-the-night cat fights that I refer to as lovers' quarrels...)  The house is a beautiful one indeed, dignified by design and possessed of solid bones, but it has turned out to be more of a fixer-upper than I ever would have imagined.  The front porch needs to be mostly rebuilt (not including the roof); both yards require a total landscaping overhaul; the back porch is in need of structural repair; almost every room badly wants a top-to-bottom makeover; the intricate stained glass window above the main stairway must be removed, repaired, and reinforced; and there are hardwood floors so badly saturated with urine from the previous owner's precious Foofy (or whatever the hell the little bastard's name was) that they're still damp and stinky and sweating brown-tar nastiness whenever the air is humid.  And that's just the start!

Right now, finding the patience to exist each day in this perpetual project of a house while remembering to embrace my new found freedom and without collapsing from stress--accepting that every project cannot be done at once, that the dream of a near-perfect, "finished" house will not be realized for years, that I am strictly limited by my financial means at any given time--is the greatest challenge for me.  I want everything to be done now but it simply can't be, and I knew this when I accepted the responsibility of home ownership.  Claiming ultimate dominion over my own property, which I can alter or enhance or neglect or brutalize in any way that I see fit (short of breaking the law, anyway), has brought me a sense of relief that I haven't experienced in a very long time.  Still, the task that lies before me is daunting, staggering in scale; I must consciously summon all the resolve and optimism and grace and fortitude within me--and I fear that I'm short on all of those ingredients--in an effort to avoid burning out or giving up on this house.  I know that happiness will be found there.  No, I can do better than that: it already has been found there.

So far, these are the major projects and tasks that are either complete or underway:

• All carpets have been removed from the house, as well as most vinyl flooring.  Although most of the floors are clean and presentable (thankfully!), the still-damp areas of wood flooring in the living room and dining room most badly damaged by dog urine saturation cannot be sanded until they've completely dried.
• One third-floor bedroom has been completely refinished and we're (my friend Dan and I) almost done with plaster repair in the other third-floor bedroom, which can soon be painted.
• The old chain-link fence has been removed from the front yard; I've located some large rocks and need to collect about four times more before I can begin landscaping.
• The back patio has been cleaned up and I'm beginning to battle the weedy jungle that is my back yard.
• I've acquired a dehumidifier that runs almost continuously in the basement.
• As soon as we can remove the stained glass window sash, I have already hired an expert to repair the window for me.
• The kitchen is clean and fully stocked with a hinged window that opens once again!
• One second-floor bedroom has been gutted of its wall paneling and drop ceiling; I plan to have a contractor remodel that room in the next month or so.
• I've begun repainting the original house number, carved into a piece of stone that's built into the brick wall next to the front door.

Acquiring this house would not have been possible without the support and financial assistance of my parents, Robert & Kitty Jehn.  I am also immensely grateful to Matt Goodman; Brian & Jennifer Hykes; Joanna Barr for lots of boxes; the Software Engineering Institute for use of the delivery truck (without which I would have been lost); my grandfather, Paul Herrle, along with my Uncle Dennis & Aunt Karen Herrle for support, advice, supplies, and Michigan yard sale hopping; my Aunt Betty Boyle; my real estate agent Jo Freedman; and especially Dan Wetmore, my partner in renovations, supply runs, and house visits all spring long, fellow wearer of dust and dirt, and constant source of motivation and optimism when I'm beginning to think that a millionaire or a Mr. Easy To Please should have bought the place instead.  Dan, you are the man, and I mean it.

Carnegie Mellon Unveils Design for Stunning Mixed-Use Tower

Okay, not really.  BAIT & SWITCH!  Actually, I am revealing a sketch of what I think CMU should build (but never will).  The Software Engineering Institute, where I work, is quickly running out of room to accommodate growth, and we're planning to construct a new building on Forbes Avenue, directly across Panther Hollow from the Collaborative Innovation Center--which looks kind of like a giant glass-paneled appliance on stilts--and across the street from such fine establishments as the perpetually smoky PHI Bar (Panther Hollow Inn), a sadly deteriorating concrete building of the Brutalist school that houses Navy ROTC offices, and a parking lot where a gas station used to be with a bunch of tacky cement urns in front.  The site itself, spanning from Craig Street to the Forbes Panther Hollow bridge, once sported a number of charming Victorian-style houses, a vintage threads shop called Crimes of Fashion, an Italian restaurant, and a gay bar called Holiday that always emanated a sickening smell like a combination of candy hearts and cigarette smoke from the front door.  Alas, those buildings were destroyed, and all that remains is a temporary experimental garden gone wrong (at least I think it was supposed to be a garden...), another parking lot, and a hot contender for America's Most Offensively Ugly Bank Building.  That last one, in my opinion, should be emptied and then burned to the ground in celebration whenever demolition time rolls around.

The building that I have in mind, as sketched during a staff meeting a few days ago, is 24 floors tall and would act as an intriguing and aesthetically daring architectural counterpoint to the Cathedral of Learning three blocks away.  The complex, in simple terms, can be broken programatically into four areas.  The lower half of the tower--about ten floors--would consist almost entirely of new offices for the Software Engineering Institute and Carnegie Mellon.  This part of the building assumes the shape of a truncated pyramid, sloping gently inward on three sides (excluding the back) as it rises, so the floor plates decrease slightly in size with each progressive floor.  The top half of the tower would contain high-end apartments and condos leased by CMU.  Next to the tower, fronting Forbes Avenue, would be a lowrise retail and restaurant complex as well as a tranquil courtyard space--a landscaped urban refuge.  In the rear, replacing what is now an unusable and unkempt plot overgrown with weeds and mangy trees that slopes down to the base of the hollow, would be a multi-level parking structure and delivery dock.  The whole ensemble would be finished in two or three varieties of handsome energy-efficient glass curtain wall, stainless steel cladding, metal fins bringing both sun shading and texture to the exterior, and smooth gray concrete.  Between the commercial and residential sections of the tower is a two-floor transitional zone that would contain a cafeteria and events area for CMU/SEI, an outdoor terrace, and a private lobby serving the residential floors above.  The top of the building features a public restaurant and bar, another outdoor terrace, and additional spaces designed for meetings and conferences.  Overall, the building would quite simply be the most awesome structure ever built by CMU--the Gates Center's hot new next-door neighbor with long legs and attitude.

As for the colors used in the quick rendering here, let's say that those are a bit exaggerated.  I would tend to use a unique type and color of glazing to visually differentiate the separate functional sections of the building, but pink and pea green are probably taking it a bit too far.  Varying hues and opacities of blue glass, along with subtle differences in the arrangement of mullions and spandrel panels (which mark where each floor is) would do the trick quite well.  I would also prefer to take the building height up another ten floors or so, but even 24 floors is most likely far higher than what is allowed by local zoning regulations.

We can all dream, can't we?!  By conjuring up hundreds of fantasty skyscraper projects and super-contemporary urban dwellings that will never exist, as I've been doing for many years, sketching out ideas on cocktail napkins and notebook paper (and meeting agenda outlines...), I'm at no greater a disadvantage than the thousands of once-idealistic young architects out there who will never land a contract to design anything higher than three floors, more funky than a boutique interior, more progressive than some glitzy corporate headquarters sprawling over golf course-perfect grounds.  But hey, I don't mean to criticize; even those commissions have the potential to become singular works of architectural art bursting with possibility--and I certainly wouldn't pass them up if given the opportunity.

Chaos in equilibrium

Nothing is guaranteed in life--not happiness, not stability, not confidence, not satisfaction. This past week I paid over $300 for a professional inspection of the house that I had foolishly begun to think of as the one that I belonged in--the one that I would rehabilitate and breathe new architectural possibilities into while gradually fulfilling my tenure as a visionary neighborhood pioneer. The nearly four-hour up-and-down of that unassuming, neglected little aluminum-sided antique with sagging floors confirmed my worst suspicions and fears: there isn't one component of that house, as far as I can tell, that is not in dire need of repair or total replacement. (Okay, maybe the bathroom sink can stay...) So much for crusading on a woefully low income and borrowed funds. So much for instinct! I certainly do not trust my own, although I am at least honest enough to admit to myself that my own gut feeling is rarely correct--so rarely that its very incorrectness is consistently proven. This was a lesson worth learning the hard way, however; I gained a tremendous amount of insight from the inspection--enough to know not to delude myself in the future, to vigorously scrutinize future property prospects, and to rest assured that I chose one hell of a good inspector. (Tim Raufer of VBInspect, in case you're wondering.)

If you were to ask me to summarize the year 2011 so far, insomuch as it pertains to the particulars of my own life--my own experiences and perceptions of life--, I'm not sure that I could. I do not know whether I'm winning or losing. I can't say that I'm necessarily gaining ground or falling short of a modest vision with cautionary tendencies. I doubt that my integrity, my sensitivity, my conscientiousness, or my good intentions are getting me anywhere. I crave validation and praise; I yearn to be loved. I need a fucking hug. I am surrounded by people who have the things I cannot have--not empty material goods but genuinely life-enriching things--, and I cannot escape the suffocation stoked by their effortless contentment as it casts such an unflattering gray-sky light on my own pathetic struggle for dignity. Every triumph comes with an accompanying disappointment. I'm beginning to think that I ought to lower my standards, stop expecting so much, and shelve any prospects of greatness--or consensual late-night pleasures--to be exercised in another lifetime.

All this being said, I offer a new (and so far unrevised) poem that, hopefully, succeeds in capturing some of what I'm feeling and striving for. Its title is most appropriate--the subtitle of a book of collected essays that I'm currently reading.

Architecture In the Age of Uncertainty

Check the earthquake death toll--
     has it topped ten thousand?  Check around

for a better house, not one that's begging
     razing.  Oh, you joke, I saw the perfect home

floating off the coast of Japan on CNN,
     red tile roof and window panes intact.

The monstrous tsunamis put it there, voyaging
     alone like adventurous architecture

hoping to reach California by next week.  You know
     its owners are likely dead, damn lucky

if they're not.  Here in Pittsburgh we're browsing
     real estate, lamenting our limit of seventy grand,

whining we don't earn more.  Check the news again--
     in Japan these people have nothing left but sea

replaced by debris and leaking radiation.
     Search your heart, buddy--you feel their pain?

You sympathize?  Embrace a cottage economy,
     that's a good start.  Sell art for extra income.

Save, waste nothing, let go of what's not needed.
     The Japanese would be proud.  Patience, honor:

prouder still.  You know they don't riot and loot
     and kill and hoard like the desperate do here.

Find your perfect little starter house, bless it
     with incense, clean and silence.  Plant plants

and get a cat.  Pray your place stays away from
     earthquakes--lucky it's not near the beach.

To be, or not to be...

Here she is: 4417 Garwood Way!

You'll have to excuse me for the cheap citation of an extremely over-quoted Shakespearean line, but that certainly is the question that plagues my mind daily as I desperately ponder whether the little two-story row house located at 4417 Garwood Way in Lawrenceville, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is the house for me.  It's only the third house that I've toured and I just can't get the image of it--the potential, the renovation ideas, the wistful "if I had a million dollars!" architectural overhaul fantasies, the visions of a hip working-class urban neighborhood on the upswing--out of my head.  The first two houses that I visited were clearly, definitely, unquestionably, outrageously spectacularly not the ones for me.  I knew that from the start.  However, with this house in Lawrenceville that I've already taken to calling mine, I'm experiencing something else altogether. 

Some context including neighboring houses.

The house is indeed appealing.  It's cute, it has personality, and it's a solidly built structure 111 years old.  Granted, it has not yet been inspected, so I have no way of knowing what unforeseen problems and disasters-to-be await me; but, by all appearances, this house is more or less move-in ready except for its lack of a refrigerator, washer, and dryer.  (Those items and more can easily be purchased at Casper's Scratch & Dent in Homestead, I've been told.)  It has a new, very solid deck attached to the back, which is essential as I require a place to work on my sunburn during the summer months.  There are two full bedrooms on the second floor, an extra finished bathroom in the basement, and the finished attic--complete with high cathedral ceiling and two dormer windows--is a perfect additional suite that I could rent out.

Then there's the location.  Lawrenceville is fairly central to the city and convenient in terms of accessibility; it's within walking distance of the Strip District, downtown (a bit farther), Bloomfield, and Friendship.  I would still be able to walk to work and back every day, and Shadyside is also a mere half-hour's walk.  Lawrenceville itself has a lot to offer as an urban community.  There are galleries, antique shops, restaurants, bars, and at least one music venue that I've visited several times and plan to in the future, Thunderbird Cafe.  The well-known hipster hangout Brillobox (which I have not visited yet, although I went in a few times back when it was called Zooty's) is five minutes away and a large grocery store is only fifteen minutes away.  Importantly, the house is directly across from Children's Hospital.  The enormous, relatively new hospital's presence may not guarantee that upper Lawrenceville will continue to get safer and cleaner, but one immediate benefit is that Garwood Way has no houses on one side of the street; it's all very nicely maintained lawn and saplings with a giant parking structure behind it.

Look at this nasty mess--one of many challenges that I face.

There are a few issues, however, that cannot be minimized.  There's an abandoned house with a smashed-in back door, a sure invitation for crime or inappropriate loitering otherwise, just two houses down.  (No scalawags, riffraff, delinquents, or derelicts on my street!)  A few of the adjacent back yards are trashy as hell--totally abused and neglected, and a sorry view to behold, which is to say, a view that I would really rather not behold.  The house behind 4417 Garwood, as you can see in the photos, is more than a bit slummy with its dilapidated, completely unusable porch / fire escape threatening to drop away from the structure and right onto my deck.  (There I go again, my deck!  You know what I mean.)  Underneath that sorry wooden atrocity is an assortment of trash, old wood, and a ruined dresser.  Sorry, but if I'm going to buy 4417 Garwood, all of that trash has to go and stay gone.  I've gone to war with negligent neighbors before and I'll gladly do it again if necessary.  As for the junky fire escape, I've already reported that and the city fire inspectors are taking action.  Ultimately, if I buy this house, I will insist upon building a high fence along the southwest property line.

I hope to have made my decision by no later than the end of March.  My parents are both tentatively willing to lend me money to cover the down payment since I unfortunately have little in the way of savings.  In the meantime, I'm still researching apartments, considering other houses--remaining receptive to every possible option.  This whole process has been exciting, enlightening, and a tremendous source of motivation--a prospect for major life change that is both frightening and invigorating. I likely won't get to vacation this year if I buy the house, but it's a sacrifice that I'm willing to make.  Wish me luck!

Cosmos, tell me what shall be: is this house the one for me?

The Month of Change

Oh, blog, it has been too long! Such major changes have occurred since last we connected. Where shall I begin?

First, and most importantly by far, my sister Kathleen's adorable, healthy daughter Giuliana Helene Galatro came into the world on Sunday, February 20th, just one day before the projected due date. (Take that, weather man!) Grandma--jeez, I can't believe I'm calling my mom this!--accompanied in the Honolulu delivery room while dad, an officer aboard a nuclear submarine currently deployed in the Pacific, received real-time updates by phone; grandpa and Aunt Beth are flying to Hawaii in a few weeks to join. Unfortunately, Uncle Mike has neither enough PTO days accrued nor the money saved to grace the family with his eccentric, highly sentimental presence this time. Luna and the snake kids and I all send our best, though, and Giuliana will be receiving a Mike Jehn original, oils on canvas, as a welcome to the world! gift.

A few months ago a friend of mine who tends bar at Gullifty's in Squirrel Hill lent me a little tome called The Uncle Book: Everything You Need To Know To Be a Kid's Favorite Relative by author Jesse Cogan. Let it be known that I'm not one to pick up self-help or how-to books; but this one was cute by appearances, peppered with humorous anecdotes, and a quick read. A lot of the content was intuitive, really no-brainer material--perhaps not so much for people with duller minds or a less refined intuitive sense, hence my inability to fully appreciate the material?! At times, the author described the uncle role in such terms that his advice began to resemble a corporate business strategy. He used the term buncle, one of the silliest (translated: stupidest) words I've ever heard, to describe the uncle bond with niece or nephew. (I know, I'm just an old grump...) I do not need to employ "positioning" to market a particular activity to my niece, as if family bonding activities were products on the market forever competing with similar enticing products. Further, I hardly need to be mindful of the so-called USP--unique selling proposition--to facilitate or participate in "firsts" for the child because, hell, I'm already creative enough, eclectic enough, downright wacky enough to easily offer a whole menagerie of unique, perhaps even enviable first-time adventures. Considering my active lifestyle, extensive range of interests, artistic nature, penchant for knowledge-sharing, enduring connection to my own inner child, effortless knack for relating to kids, and unabashedly dark sense of humor (don't worry, I'll save the really bad stuff for the teenage years!), I don't think that I'll have any problem whatsoever--other than geographical distance, that is. All of this being said, I did learn a few things from this book, and would recommend it to anyone who is genuinely concerned that he might not be up to snuff as great--even average--uncle material. Or anyone who's bored on an airplane and needs something to read other than the SkyMall catalogue or the passenger safety manual.

By the way: as far as I'm concerned, an uncle will never, ever be a kid's favorite relative, although he may come close. Everyone knows that grandma is a kid's favorite relative. Got it? GRANDMA! It's a rule of the universe. Find me a provable example to the contrary and I'll buy you a drink.

I mentioned earlier that little Giuliana will receive a painting to admire and treasure for always (or, for all I know, sell on eBay to fuel her future shopping habit). Unless I am struck with inspiration--and a spare afternoon--before my dad and sister leave for Hawaii, the one on the left is the chosen candidate. It's called The Virgin Mary Shops for China Somewhere in East Texas. I don't know why; it just seemed like a funny title. Is east Texas even a good place to buy china? I wouldn't know.

Whew. I was supposed to list all these big changes and I kind of got sidetracked. Can you blame me? My new niece is on my mind. To be honest, the only other big change--the only other really big change--is that I've decided to buy a house. The reasons for this decision are many, principal among them the knowledge that, nearing the age of thirty and having finally decided that I'd like to stay in Pittsburgh for several more years, it would be more beneficial to invest in my own property than to continue renting. I need a house to call my own--my own project, my own sanctuary, my own vision, my own rules. I need a place that I can walk around naked in, where I can dance in the living room and listen to the radio in the morning while making breakfast--a place where a cat might even co-rule as long as it promises not to piss on everything in sight and terrorize my reptiles. I want to learn useful homeowner skills, like drywall installation and basic electrical work. I welcome the challenge and boldly invite upon myself the hardship and sacrifice that is sure to accompany this drastic new responsibility. I envision great renovations and architectural experimentation that'll set my house apart from the others on the block. Have I made the right decision? I'm not sure yet, but I think so. I hope so. No use living at all if we're not willing to jump headlong into the vast unknown from time to time, right?! I've looked at three places so far and hope to delve into house #3 a bit more in my next post, photos and all. Until then, rock on!