Mea culpa: I started writing this entry last Tuesday, edited it a bit more Wednesday, and polished it today. As I edit/re-write it, I realize how shallow my story about cleaning a fence reads when so many folks got wiped off the map in Texas, Mississippi, Alabama, East Tennessee and other areas affected by this week's tornadoes. My deepest sympathies go to those folks and their communities as they figure out where to go from here.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally got my mower up and running for the 2011 Grass Cutting Championship Season. Its highly probable that will be my easiest 'honey do' list project of the year.
This week, I began one of the most time-consuming, brain-numbing projects. No - I'm not referring to the watching of the British royal wedding or an analysis of The One's birth certificate. The one home project I dread like no other is cleaning and sealing our cedar fence.
It takes me the better portion of 3 days to knock out just the cleaning part. Then I have to wait several days (or weeks) for it to dry fully so I can seal it. I've yet to find a simpler, more time-efficient process to get it done.
The project is not just time-consuming - its also dollar-consuming. Like a redneck at a poker machine, I throw good money after bad. Sure, I'll take yet another jug of cleanser. $16 per? Whatever. And sure, I'll take yet another 5-gallon barrel of sealer. $150 per? Hey, what's money when it comes to the protection of my natural wood fence, right? The only time I can recall really looking forward to cleaning the fence was 10 years ago. How do I remember that far back? I had requested 'vacation' days from work and allocated them to fence duty. The dates? September 12-14, 2001. I didn't look forward to the project at all - until September 11. The project gave me three days away from the world to clean and mentally wrestle with just about every human emotion - many times over - wash, rinse, repeat.
To help balance the time and money required, I've started stretching the number of years between re-sealing. For a while, I was cleaning and sealing every other year. Since 2005, I've chosen to go three years between rounds. Its definitely cheaper this way. When that third year rolls around though, the fence really needs a good detox like Charlie Sheen after a Vegas bender.
'Best practices' suggest I shouldn't use a pressure washer to clean the wood because it'll harm the wood's grain. Even the cleaner bottle says water from a hose should be sufficient. But that approach just gets the fence wet - not clean. I blast away with the pressure washer, and our fence holds up fine. I compare my efforts to drying towels. Some of our towels we've had for 10+ years. Even though we may remove a pound of lint from the dryer trap, the towels remain as fluffy and absorbent as they ought to be. On the other hand, some of our cheap towels, well... Let's just say as many times as they've been dried with a Bounce sheet, its like trying to dry off with a sheet of waxed paper. But I digress... Before cleaning...
CLOSE-UP! Ewww...
After cleaning...sealer yet to come.
Comparison of TMC's work on the left and our neighbors' fence on the right...
There is one thing I don't understand though. I sprayed all those mossy, mold spores with a commercial, bleach-laden, cleansing solution and allowed them to soak for about 30 minutes. Then I pounded the nastiness with a pressure washer - being careful not to make the mark of Zorro in the panels. Yet, even after poisoning the mold with chlorine bleach and who knows what other toxins AND giving it a direct shot from pressurized water, many spores still hung on to my fence boards. How do they do that? Its as if those Little Monsters had little mandibles and yelled to one another in support "Hold on boys!"
If your professional career title involves the letters 'ologist' or 'tist', perhaps you could help me better understand. I'd like to be generally informed because its pretty humbling to have your ass kicked by a mold spore. One aspect of the cleaning sessions that made them bearable was all-day listening to my iPod. With a busy life, its rare to have an opportunity for an extended listening session. For whatever reason, I went to "S" music Tuesday. I played the following during Day 1 cleaning:
The Silos
Scott Miller & The Commonwealth
Sidewinders
Sand Rubies
Son Volt
Slaid Cleaves
The Steeldrivers
For Friday and Saturday, I stayed in the same general vicinity since S's were so rewarding.
The Rainmakers
Rich Hopkins & The Luminaros
Robert Earl Keen
Rodney Crowell
Todd Thibaud
Tom Freund
Tommy Emmanuel
The Tragically Hip
Walkenhorst & Porter
Walter Salas-Humara
As an example, playing an hour or more of Hip tracks like Little Bones definitely keeps you moving. If you can't get into this level of rock-and-roll, you might want to have friends and family look for your name at Legacy.com.
When all is said and done in a few weeks, I hope my completed triennial project will be analogous to a recently-waxed car. I hope it'll be 'shiny, shiny'...
Thought I might try this theme beginning today and on Saturdays to follow. Songs with U.S. cities in the title. With this being the inaugural post in the series and my being a native Tennessean, songs about cities in the volunteer state seemed the logical place to begin.
I'm open to suggestions. Multiple songs about a specific city? State? Region? Single artist - multiple city songs? Solo artists or bands? Comment away.
For this entry, I specifically made sure the song was available on YouTube. Clearly not all songs are represented there. So some weeks I may just have a link to the audio. Who knows - let's just see where it takes us.
Unbelievable. This year is 2 days short of being one-third DONE. Did your list of New Year's Resolutions include trying your hand at writing a song? How about going the next step of putting lyrics and guitar or keyboard chords together on tape or digital recording?
Hmm, OK. So both of those are going well. Cool. How about adding a rhythm section? Don't know any drummers? Too expensive to hire? They drink all your beer? No interest or no skills in multi-tasking yourself?
Here may be an affordable and relevant solution to try. Over the last few months, drummer Brian Doherty released two sets of drum tracks. No fake, "pleather", synthesized drums - this is the sho-nuff thing. You have to buy and download the original track(s), but from there the tracks are royalty-free to use with songs you write.
Brian was the drummer for The Silos early releases, Cuba and their self-titled RCA release (better known simply as The One With The Bird On The Cover). Later, he drummed for notable bands such as XTC, They Might Be Giants and Freedy Johnston. Here is a bit of his handiwork while jamming at home.
If interested, read Brian's blog for info about volumes 1 and 2 and how to download them.
Of course, if you write a great song, add three chords, sample in Brian's drumming, get in the van, tour every night in front of 12 people, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you are an artist - even if you end up as that guy.
I've been a fan in one way or another of Americana - alt.country - singer/songwriter - 'grunge country' - or whatever you want to call it for over 25 years. About 10 or 15 years ago, I started to notice how one songwriter after another consistently mentioned someone named Townes Van Zandt as an influence. Sometimes the reference was to a Townes song they were about to cover - or simply as an inspiration for a song they wrote. Either way, the name was often spoken almost in reverence with sometimes tear-filled eyes and a catch in their voice.
Yet I didn't get it. I listened to latter day songwriters, and I even enjoyed songwriters of days gone by such as Roger Miller. Yet, somewhere along the way I had missed Townes. About 5 years ago, I finally started listening to him myself and was stunned by what I heard and what I'd been missing.
As I started listening to Townes and learning more about him, the name Blaze Foley popped up often. I still don't know much about Blaze, and I'm not sure many folks do (at least the truth about him). But I do know he was a running partner of Townes and a damn good songwriter in his own right.
Blaze lived a paradoxical life - the simple life of a homeless vagabond yet with as many complicated tangles as a bowl of spaghetti. Songwriter, performer, committed, aloof, here, there, yonder, lover, abandoner, irritant, compassionate.
He was murdered in 1989 by being on the wrong end of a .22 caliber rifle. At the time of his death, he was more than a half-decade younger than I am today.
Lucinda Williams penned her song Drunken Angel for Blaze. Also, a few years after his death, Townes released a song in tribute to his friend titled Blaze's Blue. Sadly, a couple of years after its release, Townes too was dead.
For the better part of the last 10 years or so, an electrical engineer turned filmmaker, Kevin Tripplett, has worked on a documentary about Blaze. The movie is about ready for release and is titled Blaze Foley: Duct Tape Messiah. Saturday night, a condensed version of the movie was screened at Nashville's Douglas Corner Cafe. About 40 to 50 people came out to see it. To the rest of Nashville? Your loss folks.
Following the screening, singer-songwriter-instrumentalist-producer Gurf Morlix played a significant number of tracks from his recent tribute release Blaze Foley's 113th Wet Dream. Morlix is more than just a fan of Foley's. He often accompanied him at his shows by playing guitar.
Right before the movie began, Sybil Rosen was introduced and asked to come to the stage. To say she knew Blaze in an understatement. She was Blaze's true love...for a while. Her time with him is documented in her book titled Living in the Woods in a Tree: Remembering Blaze Foley. She read a couple of passages from her book before the movie began.
After Sybil finished and sat, Kevin Tripplett quickly raised a movie screen and turned on a projector. With that, the documentary Blaze Foley: Duct Tape Messiah began.
The trailer...
The opening...
I'll try not to ruin the enjoyment of others in watching it by giving away a bunch of spoilers here. But I think I can note a few things without ruining the overall movie.
Blaze admired the songwriting of John Prine; however, his running buddy and real songwriting inspiration was Townes. Based on some video footage included in the movie, when Blaze and Townes were together, Blaze's antics could make Townes look like the 'straight guy'. And that had to have been a tall task.
As great as the Austin songwriting and performer scene is now, the early 80s had folks such as Joe Ely, Billy Joe Shaver, Townes and Blaze amongst its songwriting residents. Amazing.
The movie aired for around an hour. Before Gurf Morlix took the stage to sing, Tripplett offered to answer a couple of questions and stayed around the rest of the night to answer additional ones. I approached him after Morlix's performance and commented about the length of the movie. With so many years of preparation and the various interviews and research he did, it seemed the movie would last longer. He told me the 1-hour condensed version was shown to couple with Gurf's set. The idea was to hold the audience's attention with a healthy dose of both. The final cut will likely include another half-hour or so according to Tripplett.
He also told me that while he never met Blaze, he feels like he knows him through stories told to him my relatives who had met Blaze and through the research and interviews done for the documentary.
Gurf arrived on stage with no introduction or fanfare. I was actually in the middle of checking Twitter when suddenly I realized he had just walked on stage, said a couple of introductory comments, and began.
Set List:
Big Cheeseburgers and Good French Fries Clay Pigeons (Gurf noted this song has been covered by Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard and Lyle Lovett. He also noted John Prine covered it on his Fair and Square release.) If I Could Only Fly
Story about meeting Blaze in 1976, watching him perform in an NYC disco and becoming friends with him. He joked that Blaze was homeless and Gurf had a home. So Blaze had an immediate friendship connection to Gurf.
Story about Blaze hitchhiking. Gurf told a story that Blaze was hitchhiking and no one in a long stream of traffic would stop for him. Finally, the traffic backed up, and a woman found herself stopped next to him. She reached over to the passenger side of the car, and Blaze thought she was going to let him in. Instead, he pushed down the door lock. As a tribute the woman, he recorded...
Wouldn't That Be Nice?
Story of Gurf's parents meeting Blaze for first time. He had cautioned them that a large, drunk, smelly, bearded, homeless singer slept on his couch. His parents arrived at Gurf's place before Blaze rolled in from an all-night bender. As he introduced his parents to Blaze, Gurf's mother supposedly said "Wait. Did we just see you hitchhking earlier this morning?" Gurf said he wondered sometimes if perhaps... his mother... door lock... song.... naahhhh.
Ooh Love Oh Darlin' For Anything Less Baby Can I Crawl Back to You? Picture Cards
Gurf said he wrestled a bit with the title for his tribute album. He didn't want a primary title and a secondary, smaller, obscured "tribute to the works of Blaze Foley" or something like that. Finally, he realized the title he needed had already been written. Blaze titled one of his songs Blaze Foley's 113th Wet Dream. Gurf realized he simply needed to roll with that one for his release.
Blaze Foley's 113th Wet Dream
Gurf neared the end of his set by mocking other performers and bands who close a show, step to the shadows, leave on the stage lights, wait for a bit of audience applause, and the return with fake humility to perform an encore. Douglas Corner has a relatively small stage and not much of a place to get in the shadows. He dead-panned "I could go outside to the street and just back in. Or I can just stay here, pretend you applauded for me to return, and just play my last song." After the laughter settled, he closed with what he said was his favorite Blaze song.
Cold Cold World
As the movie continues to be screened around the country, get out to see it if possible. If nothing else, look for its full release in late May according to Tripplett.
Meanwhile, head over to YouTube and get lost in the various Blaze performances and covers uploaded there.
About six weeks ago, I told toomuchtexting it was time. That time of the spring season when the first yard cutting was needed. I told him to get started on the front yard as I started some spring cleaning of the garage.
He primed the mower a couple of times and pulled the starter cord 2 or 3 times. Nothing. I watched him give it three or four efforts and thought it best to let him work through the first starting since last December. But he couldn't get it cranked. Finally, I bailed him out. I primed the bulb seven or eight times and then proceeded to pull the cord...a lot. Between the two of us, we simply couldn't get the thing to start.
I was a little bit bent because I'd taken the mower to a shop for repair last fall. They told me it was a gummed-up fuel system resulting from all the additives in today's ethanol-tainted gasoline. They hit me up for about $35, and it lasted me through the rest of the fall's cuttings.
So I wasn't happy the mower wouldn't start less than four months and no more than a half-dozen cuttings since it was last repaired. Bottom line though - it wouldn't start. I took it to a different repair place where they told me they'd likely be able to squeeze in the repair amongst all their riding mower jobs.
My definition of "squeeze in the repair" and theirs differed significantly. THREE weeks later, I got a call from the shop. It started awkwardly with my answering the phone to hear Randall on the other end. Because of his mechanic-ese diction, I have chosen instead to refer to him as Goober. The conversation went something like this.
TMC: Hello? Goober: Dissis Randall TMC: Wait. What? You must have the wrong number.
Goober: Dissis Randall. Jee leave a lahnmowah here? TMC: Oh...yeah...lawnmower. OK, now I gotcha. I was beginning to wonder...
Goober: Yer coal's rurnt. TMC: What?
Goober: Yer coal. Its rurnt. Yain't got no far. TMC: Huh? Oh! My coil!
Goober: Yain't got no far. TMC (now in a Goober Groove): Its not firing. Correct. That's right. That's the reason I brought it in to have y'all look at it. But I thought it was supposed to be a gummed-up fuel line.
Goober: Naw, thats good. Butcher coal ain't no count. Yain't got ... TMC: ...no fire. Got it. So how much to fix it?
Goober: About a hunnerd. Sebbenty for da pahrt. Thirty to put it on. TMC: Uh no. That mower isn't worth much more than that. I'll put a 'hunnerd' towards a new one. Goober: Suit yerself. It'll be right chere. Come git it.
I had a Murray push mower for about 14 years. This Toro mower - that cost me twice what the Murray did - is only 5 or 6 years old. Yet, I was convinced I was now going to buy a new mower. But as I described my phone conversation with Goober to Ozzy Nelson, he started Googling 'mower coil'. Sure enough, we found the part on-line, and it didn't look like the effort to replace it would be that bad.
I visited site to site. Consistently, the part ran $25-30 plus S&H. Everywhere I searched, the part was significantly under Goober's sebbenty estimate - those crooks. On a what-the-hell search, I jumped to Amazon. There it was - $32 with free super saver shipping.
This morning, I launched ehow.com, double-checked what I was supposed to do, made the switch in about 15 minutes, and was ready to give it the start test.
However, I had no spark plug. In checking my coal, I reckon Ol' Goob done left out that thar spark plug. Ugh. So to the big box hardware store I went. With today's fuel prices, I likely burned $6 in gas to buy a $2 plug.
I installed the plug, fastened the plug wire, primed the bulb, yanked once and - voilà - it roared to life once again.
OK toomuchtexting - you are back in business. Wait. He's out of town this weekend. Crap. Oh well, considering I spent about $35 vs. $100 (or far more), mowing was a bit of a pleasure today.
Six months ago, I was beyond excited. After about a quarter-century, I saw Rush for the second time in my life. Some buds and I went to the Atlanta show, and I figured I'd pretty much book-ended my youth and middle-age with two memorable Rush shows.
Then last December - less than 90 days after the Atlanta show - came the announcement. About seven years since their last gig here, Rush was returning to Nashville. Despite having just seen them, I said "sign me up".
The Atlanta trip was memorable in many ways. However, consumption of copious amounts of Sweetwater IPA and other brands made certain aspects of the trip...um...uh...well, kind of un-memorable (absence-of-memorable? fuzzy-memorable?). For the Nashville show, my buddy and I decided on a different approach. He bought a ticket for his 10 year-old daughter (this was to be her 3rd Rush show - that's just crazy on many levels). And I easily recruited my guitar playing turned percussionist 15 year-old son (nickname: toomuchtexting).
For a pre-show meal and enjoyment of (limited) libations, we opted for The Dog of Nashville. Despite having been on record as planning to order The Barnyard, I called an audible at the line and went with The Fiery Redneck. toomuchtexting stretched his comfort zone and had no problems ordering and consuming the Y'all Dog.
By the time you order your dog plus a side of fantastic rings or tots, this gastronomic disaster can total up to an economic disaster considering the fractional healthiness:caloric intake ratio. But hey, it was Sunday. Guess what - 2 for 1 cold beer! Suddenly, the price of a hot dog dinner mattered not so much.
In Atlanta, we stretched our pre-show meal a bit too long and really underestimated traffic and parking conundrums. As a result, we missed the opening two songs. My bud and I were committed not to make the same mistake twice, and we decided to get to the arena about an hour early just to soak in the atmosphere.
Of course, the brutal reality can be summarized this way:
Get there early for what? Its not Southwest Airlines. Its a concert - we have a ticket for a specific seat.
There was no opener. Even if there had been, who were we gonna miss? Billy Squire's Stroke Me reunion tour?
Women watching? Please. Its a Rush show.
My interest in attending large-scale concerts has waned dramatically the last 15 years or so. I'm generally just not interested in paying big bucks for a show and even less inclined to stand in line at the merch table for a t-shirt who price is analogous to the cost of a Starbucks latte. However...this was no ordinary band or show. I was disciplined enough in Atlanta not to succumb to the ridiculous prices. With TMT in tow, we indeed stood in line and I dropped what seemed to be my mortgage payment for two t-shirts.
I took my camera hoping our seats would be reasonably close enough to get some decent point-and-shoot photos. What I failed to do, however, was charge the battery before I went to the show. I'd been on a trip to North Carolina two weeks earlier and had taken close to 200 photos. The flashing battery symbol was an in-your-face reminder of how I never re-charged the thing since my trip.
...red alert, red alert...
The boys in the band aren't a chatty bunch. An initial, knee jerk impression one could make is the band is just going through the motions with a corporate, perfunctory, get-it-over-with show. But that impression would be wrong. At this stage of their career (these guys are nearing 60 for crying out loud!), I think their giving folks a full show for the value of their ticket price is the best, professional, fan-friendly thing to do. After all, how many "How ya doin' Nashville!!" shout-outs does one need?
That's not to say Geddy didn't have a few things to say to the audience. Before playing their new song BU2B, Geddy acknowledged the band's "Nashville connection" with the song having been recorded here.
Geddy's voice was far stronger and on-the-mark at this show than it was last fall in Atlanta. Perhaps this was simply the result of Nashville being the 3rd show of this tour leg after a few weeks away from the road. Last fall's Atlanta show was the 3rd from the end of the U.S. tour. (Rush fans know too the band has an affinity for the number 3. Note I sat in seat 3 of our aisle. And I had 3 pre-show brews. And this was my 3rd time to see the band. And I never really liked #3 Dale Earnhardt. And...OK, I'll stop.)
After Geddy sang this couplet in Marathon...
More than just the bottom line Or a lucky shot in the dark
.... a pyro concussive BOOMED through the arena! We had a big fella lumbering up the riser steps on our aisle headed for concessions, the bathroom or a smoke break. When that cannon shot ripped, he suddenly dropped and turtled like Sean Avery in a hockey fight. I half-expected him to scream "I've been hit!"
Listen for the pod burst between 15-20 seconds:
I was critical of camera angles and lighting at the Atlanta amphitheater show, but both were corrected for the 2011 arena shows. The production team delivered some unbelievably tight shots on frets, strumming, picking, thumping, etc. by Geddy and Alex. The shots of Neil from front, side and overhead were fantastic. We got a great view of his foot work on his high hat, double-bass pedals, cowbell, cross-over stick work, etc.
The camera also accurately captured what I believe to be Neil's paradox. His drumming looks so effortless - even though it isn't. He has few, if any, equals behind the drum kit, and its because of the ridiculous hard work and passion he puts into it. Yet, he visually looks a bit bored or disengaged based on his absence of facial expressions. That's nothing new - he's been that way for ages. But I guess it was more apparent to me because of the limited times I've been able to see the band's show.
The day before the show, my daughter and I did a bit of spring-cleaning to our garage. One of the items I reluctantly tossed was a Pioneer AM/FM/cassette boom box. I bought it in high school...high school...many, many years ago. I worked at Kmart, put the thing on lay-away and used part of my first few paychecks to buy it.
The last decade or so, it just collected dust in the garage. As a pack rat though, I couldn't bring myself to throw it away - until Saturday when I finally did. When the band played Subdivisions Sunday, a memory to the boom box connected. For some reason, I distinctly remember listening to Rush's Signals cassette tape on it. (When we got home from the concert, I dug it out of the trash can long enough to take the above picture.)
After the first set of a mixed bag of Rush hits, the band took about a 20 minute break of so and returned to play through its most-popular album, Moving Pictures.
My son seemed to enjoy the show. However, being a novice listener, he didn't recognize many of the songs from the front segment of the setlist. Nor has he really digested Peart's complicated lyrics. But he was on his feet, clapping and laughing as the familiar riff of Tom Sawyer began. A funny, video vignette played of a time machine gone wrong. As the band played, a video played behind them of three chimps playing along to it. And after all, is there really anything funnier than a drum-playing monkey?
As has been well documented, there's never such a thing as too much cowbell. Peart didn't disappoint as he played his cowbell during Witch Hunt - with his foot pedal! For a moment, I thought it was a recorded drop-in track, but I spotted his foot work after looking more closely.
At some point in the show, I zoned out a bit from what was happening on stage and just soaked in observations of what was going on around me with the stereotypical Rush crowd of middle-aged white males. Conclusion: It never gets old to laugh at aging, balding, paunchy, white guys' attempts at "air drumming" where they are convinced every drum lick is to a cymbal crash.
Also, it was a bit painful to hear some guys around me attempt a sing-along with Geddy. The mouthing of the lyrics themselves always brings a solid laugh because several guys in the audience sang as if they were a mash-up of David Coverdale and Joe Dirt. The other painful aspect was hearing some of them challenge the same octave ranges as Geddy. Guys, the professional is nearing 60, and he's challenged to hit many of the high notes night after night. You simply aren't going to hit them on a regular basis. I began to wonder if some of them had asked a buddy to crush their cojones Johnny Knoxville style-before entering the venue just to take their mock-vocals above the (music) staff.
Another fave of my son that he hoped would be played was Closer To The Heart - an arena anthem if there ever was one. I already knew the set list, but I didn't tell him anything about it other than the entirety of Moving Pictures being played. We listened to part of A Farewell To Kings on the way to the arena, and he again said he really wanted to hear CTTH. He really enjoys Alex Lifeson's opening guitar work.
Needless to say, he was on his feet and hollering as Alex transitioned from acoustic solo to the opening strains of CTTH.
The second set closed with Far Cry from Snakes And Arrows. Its not a bad song, but its not a closer in my opinion. Geddy didn't set it up, they played it and then he yelled "Good Night!" as Neil rose from behind his drum kit. Just really awkward. But knowing the encore was yet to come, I didn't let that small oddity derail the evening. But its still weird and should probably be dropped. I'm just saying...
The encore selection was already known. Yet all roared when Working Man was played - reggae version and all. My pulse quickened as the song ended with a transition to Cygnus X1. Ohhh, PSYCH. It was just an opening riff tease - apparently one they'd used in past tours.
A great evening. Three hours of continuous music. I'll soon return to my primary musical interests of singer-songwriter, Americana, alt-country, whatever you call it, type stuff. But the memories of another show by the Canadian trio will definitely stick with me for a while. And I'm pretty sure my son will remember it even longer.
A Truer Sound has completed the compilation of Feel Bad For You - April edition. Rockstar Aimz once again showed her mad graphics skills with the compilation's artwork.
With Easter occurring in April this year, I thought a Let's Active made sense as my submission. You know, the jangle-rock band of the mid 80s? Led by Mitch Easter? Who produced Murmur by R.E.M.? Oh c'mon, please tell me you remember.
Listen here (especially to the track by Vulture Whale. Wash, rinse, repeat.)
I especially enjoyed the track by Vulture Whale - a band I hadn't heard of until now.
The compilation also includes Don't It Make You Wanna Dance by Rusty Weir. If you are a Todd Snider fan, you may remember this song being threaded through this hilarious story about Todd being in the right place at the right time in show business.
Oh yeah, I don't think I blogged the link to the March edition. You can grab last month's compilation at the FBFY site as well.
CLOSE-UP! Ewww...
After cleaning...sealer yet to come.
Comparison of TMC's work on the left and our neighbors' fence on the right...
There is one thing I don't understand though. I sprayed all those mossy, mold spores with a commercial, bleach-laden, cleansing solution and allowed them to soak for about 30 minutes. Then I pounded the nastiness with a pressure washer - being careful not to make the mark of Zorro in the panels. Yet, even after poisoning the mold with chlorine bleach and who knows what other toxins AND giving it a direct shot from pressurized water, many spores still hung on to my fence boards. How do they do that? Its as if those Little Monsters had little mandibles and yelled to one another in support "Hold on boys!"
If your professional career title involves the letters 'ologist' or 'tist', perhaps you could help me better understand. I'd like to be generally informed because its pretty humbling to have your ass kicked by a mold spore.
