Goodbye, Domino

Domino magazine, one of my favorite publications, announced its closure today.

Here, Apartment Therapy and Design*Sponge weigh in.

What a shame.

Although with the economy the way it is, I'd be surprised if we even remembered such a vestige of good times a year down the line.

The magazine was always an inspiration for me (along with the color feature at House Beautiful) and a source of comfort during some of the madness I've faced regarding my own renovations.

Surprises Underfoot

What you don't know can hurt you.

While it was, at some level, tempting to leave the existing floor in place and deal with the squeaks and cracks in the ceramic tile, my vision for the place has largely been reductive. (That is, to remove elements, materials and structures that detract from the building's spirit, for lack of a better word.)

Stripping away all the green, faux marble-pattern ceramic tile would reveal relatively intact hardwood along with a wide array of minor flooring disasters. (Even ThisOldHouse.com cites "blue-green vinyl" as a no-no.) But there were still surprises.

The first was a strange, lead pipe with an attached container that looked like a car's muffler, but smaller. It was torn on one side and squashed — and it wasn't attached to anything.

The second unexpected finding was the absence of a few floorboards, which allowed the viewing of this metal bladder-like object. It appeared to be some sort of water or heating pipe, although no longer in use.

Sometimes I think the place is more suited to "Unsolved Mysteries" than "This Old House." Maybe I should call a TV producer.

Setting Free the Wood Floors

Sometimes a burst of energy and some spare time can be a dangerous thing.

Take the first-floor hallway floor, which I had set upon with hammer and crowbar in order to liberate the wood floor underneath — as I did in the living room. A simple task to define, yet far more challenging in its execution.

First, there was a hideous green faux marble ceramic tile that was shaking loose due to shoddy installation. Under that, there was 3/4-inch plywood both screwed and nailed down. That was followed by the same blue-green linoleum tile inflicted throughout the house.

White linoleum was next. Checkerboard roll linoleum after that. A thin piece of plywood and then what was probably the original 1901 flooring with a paper backing.

Finally, relatively intact hardwood floors.

Although I had yet to scrape all the remaining paper backing off the wood, I was already planning what I would do next. I turned to Apartment Therapy for suggestions on how to proceed and received some great tips, although the most important one (for next time) was probably the advice to do all the floors throughout the house at once: More work up front, but more consistent results throughout.

I'll definitely keep that in mind for next time.

Recalling a Previous Abode

I love Brooklyn.

I love New York.

While I was born and raised here and have always considered it home, it wasn't until I had an apartment of my own in Williamsburg that I really felt connected. The location — right at North 7th Street and Bedford Avenue — was the perfect hub to from which to head toward friends, family and work. Those "spokes," per se, comprised such places as Astoria, Park Slope, Bayside and Seacaucus, N.J. Best of all, it was right on the Bedford L, one subway stop from Manhattan and literally 7 minutes to Union Square.

It was immensely satisfying to round out my meager belongings with furniture to fit the space.

In that shoebox of an apartment, I managed to fit such beloved items as a Persian rug I'd bought at a Santa Fe, New Mexico, consignment store when I lived there; my Stearns & Foster queen size bed, an armless houndstooth chair from Crate & Barrel (a floor model and on sale!), Ikea adjustable halogen overhead lamps in the bedroom and living room — with dimmers — and an Ikea Pax Malm wardrobe to compensate for the dearth of closet space.

The entire apartment was repainted in Benjamin Moore Weathered Stone with two bedroom accent walls in a custom royal blue derived spontaneously from a roll of 3M painter's masking tape. My brother, Marco, and I selected it at a Home Depot color-picking machine in order to overcome my palette indecision.

I couldn't have been happier with those choices, made after several agonizing attempts to pick something.

My reason for going off-track for a moment derives at least in part from wanting to contrast my relatively painless apartment makeover sprint to the arduous home renovation marathon in which I was now enmeshed.

I knew my current project would be much, much more work than a tiny Williamsburg flat. Except that part of me figured I'd get to the fun stuff much more quickly: I'd change a few fixtures, refinish the floors, spackle some walls and pick colors for all of the rooms.

So far, it's been way more involved than that.

Would I do it all over again? Absolutely. Only differently.

Working on Christmas Eve

Inspiration often strikes at the unlikeliest times.

Waking early on Christmas Eve because of I had become accustomed to my predawn workday schedule, I found myself with little do to and plenty of energy with which to do it. (Mind you, getting up at 8:30 in the morning was sleeping in.)

So, I took the floor scraper to the nasty blue-green linoleum tiles covering the original hardwood floors. Most of the wood seemed to be intact, which was a huge relief. The adhesive was more stubborn in certain sections, and some kind of wood filler apparently had been used.

Thankfully, I didn't have much trouble popping off the tiles, finishing the entire living room and most of the dining room by noon, after which I began my shopping.

The tedious part, as always, would be disposing of the debris. Nothing a good supply of contractor trash bags wouldn't take care of, though.

Why is demolition nearly always the fun part?

All's Well That Ends Well

How do you define success?

The biggest and best birthday party / housewarming / music festival / photo exhibit I've ever hosted — 10 cases of free beer, five bands and nearly 200 guests! — went off without a hitch.

I slept 14 hours and then started the arduous task of cleaning up.

The one thing I wanted to find was the missing bottle of Dom Perignon, given to me by Oleg Cassini a few years ago. It had thoughtfully been placed in the living room recycling bin.

Empty, of course.

It was a small price to pay for such an amazing time. Not to mention it was my fault for leaving it in the refrigerator in the first place. Other than spilled drinks and a basement handrail that ripped out of the wall, the house is still standing. Thank goodness.

One guest reports: "I partied my ass off.

"Literally.

"When we were all dancing in your living room towards the end of the night the back right pocket of my jeans ripped right off. Now that's a party."

Thank again to everyone who helped make it a success — especially the bands and Lagunitas Brewing Company for its very generous sponsorship of the inaugural Bushwick Rocks!

Now, back to working on the house.

Planning a Celebration

Nothing motivates like a party.

Although there was still plenty of work left to do, the stage (i.e., house) was set for the inaugural Bushwick Rocks! indie rock concert / combined birthday party / Fotophile.com photography show / housewarming party.

It was nice not to care about a mass of people possibly "ruining" the ugly green linoleum tile floor, but the walls had not been painted in who knows how long. So, with three days to go, I set upon a late-night painting marathon that took me into the wee hours of Thursday morning.

Breaking open the five-gallon container of Kilz Original primer, I soon gained a new understanding of the company's branding: It smelled like petrochemical death. Donning a respirator, I went on to apply two — in some cases, three — coats of primer, then promptly forgetting about the odor.

Until I was done.

The smell was akin to gasoline, but not quite as sweet. (I actually enjoy the scent of service stations.) Thankful to have closed the bedroom door, I was able to go to sleep without asphyxiating.

The following day, when friends Gillian, Ryan and Karen showed up to hang their photographs for the visual part of the Saturday-night celebration, the olfactory offender was absent. The good news was that the Kilz did a fine job of covering up the discoloration on a wall that was in rough shape.

At least now I realize why low-VOC paint exists.