Monday, November 3rd, 2008
Even though my stay is abbreviated, I’ve slowly been repairing parts of the studio. Today, the full length mirror (propped on a box and tilted against the wall) felt my wrath. I picked up a set of mirror hangers for $3 at a nearby hardware store as I walked home from the coffee shop. Four minutes after I got home, the mirror was properly fastened. I assume we are not allowed to put holes in the walls and that I’ve violated several SFFD fire codes in doing so. I further assume the recurring earthquakes will easily jolt the mirror to its demise against the hardwood floor and I will be sewed by a neighbor for the resulting noise.
The shower head was an earlier concern. Please see above for my highly efficient replacement process. I believe in optimized, repeatable methods… Hardware store, brief install, lawsuit. Showers are a wonder of the modern age and should not be overlooked. I recently put a custom bathroom in my Denver loft at no small expense merely to maximize my shower’s potential. A shower head replacement is the least I could do here.
Sadly, this bathroom, like so many San Francisco bathrooms, doesn’t have a ventilation fan. Bathroom fans were only recently invented in the 1940s. San Franciscans refuse to update apartments beyond 1907, once the city recovered from the great earthquake and fire of 1906. Most residents fear the impact of such risky modern convenience as it may decimate the innate charm of more than a century of neglect. So, instead of a bathroom fan, I have a window running the wall of my shower. From this window, I have a perfect view of the alley. I am fortunate in this regard as I enjoy the 45 degree morning air rushing against my skin as I attempt to dodge the first cold then boiling then freezing then scalding water indicative of a boiler that hasn’t been updated (again since 1907).
And so, as I shivered, boiled and scrubbed in the shower this evening, the soap suddenly ventured from my hand in its usual slippery manner. This time however, instead of hurling to the tub below and taking a brief luge around its 1907 grandeur, my particular bar of soap endeavored to glide perfectly through the open window, down several stories, and into the alley. There, I assume it found many of its other friends (in the brief time I’ve live here I’ve also lost a bottle of shampoo and a razor in a similar manner). I imagine they’ve made a wonderful picnic and are now reminiscing about the days of old, recent earthquakes, and the likelihood of the Cubs finally winning the World Series.