Ah, spring. Sorta. We're getting a first glimpse of a life without gloves, scarves and industrial salt. Hardened layers of snow boulders are evaporating, revealing what at least is the potential for green grass.
As the snow melts, layers of coats and blankets are also being shed. But it is almost as if these heavy winter loads of fluff, both in fleece and flake form, have been obstructing my brain as well, as I have finally emerged from the brain-fog hibernation I must have been in all winter and realized that I have accomplished diddly squat.
Sure, I assembled those shelves I bought in 2007. But assembling was as far as I went; they are currently occupying about four square feet of floor space and are the cat's latest hangout.
Sure, I invented a new holiday (Stripey Sweater Day, Jan. 25). And I even managed to buy some plastic tubs that several metric tons of clothes in my closet may someday occupy.
But I just now took inventory of all the half-finished projects I have laying around the house, and the ideas that haven't got off the ground due to the winter blahs that keep motivation at a sloth's pace.
Unfinished Project No. 1: Scale model Nyabinghi diorama.
To those who read those words and found they make zero sense, I had aimed to recreate the best place that ever existed inside a cardboard box. The Nyabinghi was a seedy old dive that was the broke college student equivalent of Cheers; everybody knew your name, and were usually glad you came. Hundreds of awesome bands, great friends and semi-nude karaoke made history within its walls. After about eight years of bacchanalia however, the place closed and proceeded to burn down, twice. The nostalgia however, is still aflame, as people barely out of their 20s wax poetic like old fogies.
I decided to create an homage with the best diorama ever, recreating the whole place from memories and photos, complete with clay model bartenders and patrons. I got a little pool table, little motorcycles, clay, paints, glue and the perfect box, but went as far as glittering cardboard to recreate the penny-encrusted bar before abandoning the project because it required me to emerge from blankets for too long. Once I can no longer see my breath indoors, hopefully the diorama will get finished. Grand unveiling to follow.
Unfinished Project No. 2: Roseanne musical. My friend Aspasia and I often Twitter back and forth about whatever "Roseanne" rerun is on that night. "THIS IS THE ONE WHERE BECKY CUTS THE CHEESE LOL" and the like. One night, we got to talking about all the great songs from the show, and we decided to collect songs from "Roseanne," from the theme song to the song Dan wrote for the country-western contest to the musical numbers from Roseanne's bathtub fantasy episode, and perform them in a one-night-only musical. We would get chicken T-shirts like the Conners often wore and call ourselves the Roseanne Barr Band. We even threw out ideas for original songs; a '50s-style number about Becky buying a dress for her school dance, a psychedelic '60s number about when Dan and Roseanne found their old stash.
But, alas, talking was all we did, as laziness on my part and other musical projects on Aspasia's managed to put the Roseanne Barr Band on the back burner.
Unfinished Project No. 3. Repaint kitchen cabinets. Unscrewed handles, coated in fresh yellow paint, litter my dining room table. The screws that once held them on roll around, and several are now M.I.A. thanks to the cat. The stepladder I need to reach the top shelves remains unborrowed from ... whoever has a stepladder. The kitchen still looks like a bunch of messy boys were living there for 10 years before I moved in. This too, shall be remedied.
Unfinished Project No. 4. Master's thesis. The less said about this, the better.
The grandiose plans of cozying up with a pile of books and crafts and whatnot while the snow gently fell outside didn't exactly pan out this winter, but hopefully the whiff of spring will renew my zeal. I need the floor space.
Anybody got a stepladder I can borrow? E-mail ssepanek@tribtoday.com or comment on this column at www.tribtoday.com