The Pink Panther is no longer Pink.
For those who have visited my house (known as the Pink Panther) over the last five years, you will be quite familiar with my pink issues. The house “was” (operational modifier here being “WAS”) covered with rather interesting cake frosting/whipped cream layered stucco. This had been then painted “Pink”. Pink like Pepto Bismo. There have been various theories offered over the years as to the origin an purpose of this style of stucco. Most of us thought it was added at some point in the 50’s or 60’s as a cheap method of hiding previous sins in remodeling or cracked stucco. It is well known, that the late fifties and early sixties were a time of simple cheapness when it comes to architecture so it seemed a good explanation. Plus this house was broken into a rental triplex at some point around 1960 or so. Cheapness rules when it comes to rentals. Also the previous owner of the abode, had a fascination with pink. There was pink wall to wall carpet, pink wall paper, pink toilets, and pink waste paper baskets. Need I go on in Pink? I pink not. I even wrote a poem about my houses pinkness just after I bought it.
Mrs. Pink:
A year has gone, since I gave green for these walls.
For that flush red you embedded in this house.
Pink petals on pin striped paper took some gall.
I can not live in this jail you built for your spouse.
These sweet rose rooms have thorns of little bold.
How can a man stand erect in such a place?
Pink fucking carpet, pricks me into a cliché' mold.
I do battle to save the dignity of my race.
Forgive this sledge I strike upon your child
Don't screech at the crowbar in the womb.
This quick bright pain will be relatively mild,
But I will tear this pink from every Goddamn room.
Well, about 10 days ago tomorrow a very nice guy named Amir, showed up with a bunch of guys that work with him on a regular basis and knocked all pink off the sides of my house. (For a small fee.) --And I do mean knocked. Starting at 7:30AM each day, they beat on the stucco with hammers for a week., it was a great alarm for the whole neighborhood. As it crumbled, they trucked the pink away. All that is left is the redwood grooved siding that the stucco was embedded in. They neighbors comment on how much better the house looks now.
Now I mention this as we discovered a couple things.
1. The stucco was the original stucco on the house from 1910.
2. The stucco only had one coat of paint on it. Pink.
Apparently the house was left in a natural cement color for years. This is a common style in the Elmwood Park part of Berkeley, or was, most people painted the stucco after WW II. Now, I know this because, there are about ten coats of paint on the wood trim of the house, and only one of the pink on stucco. This led to me to wonder why anyone would want a cake-frosting house that colored natural cement. I guess there were people with weird tastes in 1910 too.
However, as you can tell from the poem there is another character in this pink story. The man of the house of the family that dwelled here before me. He was a bit of a lunatic. When he sold the house, he left me all his furniture, saying a young guy like me could use help getting started. (He also left me an in operable wringer washer.) Subsequent discussions with him revealed he had converted his profit from the home sale in to gold and he was moving to Fort Bragg CA, because he thought the economy was going to collapse in the Y2K fiasco. It took me nearly to Y2K to get all the crap he left behind out of the house. (Think 25 trips to the dump on Saturdays.) But as I went to the dump with wringer washers, pink waste paper baskets and pink curtains, I would wonder about this guy. He was married to a Asian wife who he met through a “foreign dating service”. Both of his daughters were white, so the mail order bride came later in life. At some point between his marrying his wife and me buying this house, his wife converted him to pink.
Why would a man go pink? Was the sex that good? Was he a frustrated cross dresser and could only bring himself to paint stuff pink? I don’t know. But I do know this, that last vestige of pink got loaded up in a truck last week and went to the dump by a gun name Amir. It took me five and half years, but there ain’t no pink left in or on my house, and I’m pink with joy.
Mrs. Pink:
A year has gone, since I gave green for these walls.
For that flush red you embedded in this house.
Pink petals on pin striped paper took some gall.
I can not live in this jail you built for your spouse.
These sweet rose rooms have thorns of little bold.
How can a man stand erect in such a place?
Pink fucking carpet, pricks me into a cliché' mold.
I do battle to save the dignity of my race.
Forgive this sledge I strike upon your child
Don't screech at the crowbar in the womb.
This quick bright pain will be relatively mild,
But I will tear this pink from every Goddamn room.
Well, about 10 days ago tomorrow a very nice guy named Amir, showed up with a bunch of guys that work with him on a regular basis and knocked all pink off the sides of my house. (For a small fee.) --And I do mean knocked. Starting at 7:30AM each day, they beat on the stucco with hammers for a week., it was a great alarm for the whole neighborhood. As it crumbled, they trucked the pink away. All that is left is the redwood grooved siding that the stucco was embedded in. They neighbors comment on how much better the house looks now.
Now I mention this as we discovered a couple things.
1. The stucco was the original stucco on the house from 1910.
2. The stucco only had one coat of paint on it. Pink.
Apparently the house was left in a natural cement color for years. This is a common style in the Elmwood Park part of Berkeley, or was, most people painted the stucco after WW II. Now, I know this because, there are about ten coats of paint on the wood trim of the house, and only one of the pink on stucco. This led to me to wonder why anyone would want a cake-frosting house that colored natural cement. I guess there were people with weird tastes in 1910 too.
However, as you can tell from the poem there is another character in this pink story. The man of the house of the family that dwelled here before me. He was a bit of a lunatic. When he sold the house, he left me all his furniture, saying a young guy like me could use help getting started. (He also left me an in operable wringer washer.) Subsequent discussions with him revealed he had converted his profit from the home sale in to gold and he was moving to Fort Bragg CA, because he thought the economy was going to collapse in the Y2K fiasco. It took me nearly to Y2K to get all the crap he left behind out of the house. (Think 25 trips to the dump on Saturdays.) But as I went to the dump with wringer washers, pink waste paper baskets and pink curtains, I would wonder about this guy. He was married to a Asian wife who he met through a “foreign dating service”. Both of his daughters were white, so the mail order bride came later in life. At some point between his marrying his wife and me buying this house, his wife converted him to pink.
Why would a man go pink? Was the sex that good? Was he a frustrated cross dresser and could only bring himself to paint stuff pink? I don’t know. But I do know this, that last vestige of pink got loaded up in a truck last week and went to the dump by a gun name Amir. It took me five and half years, but there ain’t no pink left in or on my house, and I’m pink with joy.
posted by Stan at 11:25 PM
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