Ah, Richard F. Burns Waste Transfer Center, land of my dreams.
After pricing out a couple of options (dumpster, hired waste removal), we went with the ol' "sling a bunch of stuff in a U-Haul and take it to the dump" option. They weigh your van before and after you unload it, and you pay 80 bucks a ton. Much cheaper, believe me.
They also do some wood recycling, for what it's worth.
You just back your truck up to the wall and unload, after which a GIANT Volvo truck comes and smashes your trash in its claw.
The guys unloading next to us may have had the least inspection-worthy pickup I've ever seen.
Fare thee well, sweet carpet.
There we go: a good establishing shot.
Our deluxe doorway awning. I will say that we're happy about this monstrosity when it's raining and we can't find our keys.
Finally removed every last scrap of drop ceiling from this room.
Random discovery: our kitchen light fixture is attached to a bungee cord, so that it moves freely from here....
...to here. Weird.
We took a calculated risk that this fan was indeed self-supporting and wouldn't tear the ceiling out when the drop ceiling was removed.
And, thank God, it worked.
Drop ceilings make an incredible mess.
Our kitchen has a strange keyhole arch leading to the living room; we're probably not going to mess with it now, but it's not our favorite part of the house.
Someone actually went to the trouble of putting stickers that say "Nautilus" on the stove light & vent. Who knows why.
The oven is pretty classic. Definitely works, and despite its vintage it was apparently used to store cereal for most of its career; the previous owner did all of her cooking in the basement.
Our back yard. Once we clear the vines and barbed wire away, I think it'll be pretty nice.
There appears to be some sort of primitive wind power apparatus attached to our patio. Maybe we'll try and get it working again...
This is the picture accompanying the encyclopedia entry for "gone to seed."
I'll tell you one thing. Ain't no looters getting in here.
Basement stairway: 22 in. wide! We've learned to walk sideways.
Yup, that's a wall made of doors.
This is a crawlspace in the back of the house. I presume this is where our skeletons are buried.
Can't knock the labeling.
It's the traditional satin-covered horseshoe hanging up in the basement. Wait, what?
The pastoral bliss of our vestibule wallpaper. You can almost smell the hay, can't you?
Jill uses the Super Wonder Bar to pry up the hallway carpet.
Lighting fixture we found in the downstairs parlor. This had been sitting underneath the drop ceilings for who knows how long.
Good picture of our excellent carpet and our fake fireplace. This is made of concrete and we'll have to break it up to get it in the trash.
Upstairs ceiling. Yecch.
Here you can see a) the ceiling tiles, made of some kind of fibrous substance that embeds itself in your skin, and b) the fleur-de-lis linoleum that we took out of the bedroom. Strange.
Jill displays today's trophy.
Picture of the many wallpaper stylings of 1224 McKean Street.
Here is the window which leads to...another part of the house.
Door, no more.
This here is a linoleum fake-carpet. All the rage in the 1950s, apparently.
This is the house's original AC system - a shaft in the center of the house that pushes hot air out through the roof. The window faces into the master bedroom suite - you can see a picture of it from the other side above.
The air shaft (and the only exposed paneling in the house.)
Hook-up for a gas lamp. Hope that's shut off...
Our secret compartment. Jill found a small revolver and some bullets in here; they ended up being taken away by some South Philly police detectives.
This is the ceiling that makes me nervous. The water damage is confined to this space, but obviously the roof hasn't always been so well-sealed.
Anyone have ANY idea what to do with this mini-closet? I wish I'd won more trophies.
This light switch will not be removed from the house under any circumstances.
The bedroom ceiling's more intact, but still has a few dings.
Prepping for our super-classy housewarming party.
