Sunday, November 11, 2007

Notes On the Bachelor Life: Cleaning In a Big Hurry

(A continuing narrative)

At times things happen that goad even the most complacent gent into action, and one of them is the Family Visit.

The Family Visit means that all the ordinary assumptions of the Bachelor Life are off.

It means, for instance, that the odd crusty stuff in the corner cannot wait until one remembers to buy floor soap. It means the excellent project of not washing any shirts until one has worn at least half the collection cannot continue. It means the pile of stuff destined for either eBay or the thrift shop is going to the latter, and right away.

It means the stranger exploitation films in the DVD collection have to be squirreled away in the "special box;" the pile of old newspapers that might have something worth saving must go; and there's a lengthy, smelly date with the can redemption machines at the Super-Duper Stop & Shop in the very near future.

But let us begin with dust. (See also: dirt, grit, flying particulate matter, cigar butts, choda.) It is absolutely astonishing how much dust there is in the average apartment, and when the inhabitant is a fresh air fiend, stuff just blows in the windows, gets caught up in the fan, and lands everywhere.

I am also slowly becoming aware of this fine true fact: regular applications of a dust mop or similar device mean less onerous (and much less dramatic) dust adventures.

In other words, I really should try and give the place a swipe more often than say, oh, once a year.

At the Super-Duper Stop & Shop, a cavernous place filled with confusing signs and kept at a sub-Arctic temperature, so one is in constant danger of being run down by the cart of a chilly nomad looking in vain for frozen peas, I meant to buy one of these Swiffer mop things, which look so easy and convenient on television. "Just Swiff in a Jiff and Light a Spliff!"

But they flip the meter on a Swiffer at 30 bucks, and I must call bush on a $30 disposable mop. So I went with the traditional
,Libman model, at $12, with the washable replaceable head. "Kinda like my own," I thought as I shoved it in the cart, narrowly missing a stout lady with two screaming infants in tow heading for the Starch 'n' Ritalin aisle.


Here are some exciting photos of Phase I - The Living Room:

The author discovers that large amounts of dust tend to clump, and these clumps are difficult to dislodge from the mop without the clumps returning to their original state of inchoate dustitude. It is best to go outside and shake the entire apparatus. Vigorously.

A background in pool halls is an aid to successful dusting with the Libman swivel dust mop.

Those unaccustomed to dusting find themselves in awkward positions.

The Enemy. This came out of one bookcase.

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