Exciting Times With Magic Wax

Once upon a time I was clueless about the finish on the Englishman's garage doors. Misinformation mixed with rare initiative led to a disaster which I feared might cost me thousands of dollars to make right.

I wrote about it at the time. I fretted and searched for answers, and fretted some more. Then I met Raul who had applied the magic finish in the first place. He kindly let me in on the secret. Making the doors right involved sacred rituals, culminating in the application of Raul's secret Santeria wax formula. It smelled a bit like gasoline, and looked like black shoe polish.

Those were the days; probably 100 hours hand sanding the textured wood, then performing the prescribed rites. The end result was stellar and saved my reputation. He told me to re-apply the stuff every six months or so, and to charge a lot. I still don't charge enough.

It has been more than six months, maybe more than I year--I lost track. I had some of the formula left over from before but it was pretty well solidified. To solid to brush onto anything. You brush this paste on then after awhile, wipe off the excess.

I do not possess a gas can and don't have a lawn mower and homeowner implements so I only keep gas in the car. It was my first choice for something to soften the dark glob of sacred material. Then I recalled that the person who revealed the elements which combine to make this stuff said "or diesel fuel" right after listing gasoline as final ingredient.

Being the clever one, I thought to myself, "mineral spirits is not so different from diesel fuel. That is what I used and it appears to have worked, although the behavior of the coating was a little different. I'm not sure it didn't work better. It dried more slowly so I treated larger areas before wiping it down. The ticket is for the dark stuff to remain in nooks, crannies, and crevices. It gives it a aged, rustic look while leaving a waxy soft feel to the wood.

Eight hours later I was done. These are big doors. Six of them.

Now I am an expert. And that makes me think it is time to find another source of income. It is nice to do something like that a couple of times, but in reality I am not Mr Home repair and maintenance. It is like the teak. OK. I learned, I experimented with ways to deal with a couple of different types of it and I did the maintenance. Now it is repetitive and not much for holding my attention.

But, until I get the alternative decided, and up and running I better keep this stuff going. It does give me the inside line on this administration, and some glimpse of how they live on the other side. People in some ritzy areas are no fun at all. That is clear. But you go to some other ritzy 'hoods and those people have fun. Even the trophy wives and trophy teens are more personable.

In Rancho Pricko their greatest fear is being caught smiling or being courteous if there is no obvious social or business advantage to be had. I guess you get thrown out for that, or they take away your sugar daddy or trophy wife. Or trophy gigalo, just to be PC. Truthfully you see very little of that. Tennis pros are the trophies of the trophies, but that is somewhat on the sly.

It is always interesting to see how people behave in certain settings though. That kind of thing has long been studied in my travels. The puzzling aspect is why that particular circle of people, or that town, has so many very wealthy people who seem so unhappy or angry. Rich people should be happy, even though it is considered evil to be rich if you listen to news.

Rude, polite, happy, or bitter, I whole heartedly approve of wealth. Wealthy people pay far better than poor folk, and they have more bizarre and interesting projects quite often. Do not hate the rich. Their wealth is not the reason for your lack of it. Not a zero sum situation.