MISTER SANDMAN

...I understand you’ve been running from the man
Who goes by the name of the Sandman.
                                            - America, “Sandman”

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen
Give him two lips like roses and clover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
Sandman, I’m so alone
Don’t have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beam
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
                                           - The Chordettes, “Mr. Sandman”

These days, that’s me: Mister Sandman. But I’m not bringing anyone any dreams, oh, no.

’Cause I’m long, and I’m strong, and I’m down to get the friction on. I’m smooth. And when I’m done, everything I touch is smooth. I am Mister Sandman.

Right now, I’m sanding down the walls in our guest bathroom. They’ve gotta be smoooooth, you see. We don’t want a lumpy, bumpy paint job, now, do we?

Let me tell you right here and now that there are few things that are a greater pain in the ass than painting over a wallpapered wall. Removing a corpse from a cesspool comes to mind. (OK, that was maybe a little over the top as far as analogies go. But we are talking Serious PIA here.)

When the wallpaper is crappy, and when it has been layered over even crappier (and far uglier) wallpaper, the job is far tougher. You have to remove as much as you can, mud over everything, and then sand it all down.

Sanding over wall compound generates an amazing amount of fine gypsum dust. It’s probably what the Devil uses for talcum powder. It gets everywhere, plugging up air conditioning and vacuum cleaner filters. Confining it to the point of origin is next to impossible. Yecch.

But here I am writing when I should be applying a coat of paint. Until later, Esteemed Readers!