Smallhouse Log

one week later (the Feast of Florence Nightingale)

Well, I just spent at least an hour looking at bird intestines, and while kind of weirded out, I'm only a little more certain about the future than before, and only in insignificant ways. This must be what progress feels like.

So what does the future hold? Hopefully, bicycles. Signs are good. Places to live? For me, for a while. There is definitely work to be done here. Work to be done? There are always more robots to build, but I need something that pays better. This may not exist. I may have to create it. There will not be much time for that. Romance? The intestines were either particularly unclear in this area, or I didn't like what I saw, or I really liked what I saw. I'm not sure I can tell the difference; this is one of many problems with bird intestines. Travel? This is something I didn't need to forecast; I'm going to the UP to visit Hannah and Kaleb at the end of the month. Yes. When I come back, will the world be in chaos? I'll kill another pigeon and find out. Or maybe upgrade my materials; a duck has got to work better. But where does one even find a live duck?

You know, I had no idea Florence Nightingale had be sainted. Maybe she hasn't been? Does having a feast day only happen to saints? Someone has to know how this works. Maybe Dr. Google picked up a degree in Episcopal doctrine, I should ask her.

Tuesday

"It's too close for comfort, this heat has got right out of hand."

So, moved out today. I cleaned the apartment as best I was able with the materials at hand, and left most of my condiments for Jerett, along with my trash bins and the cutting board and wooden spoon he destroyed. I'm not too sure about the pasta pot, either, but I packed it anyway. He seems to have cooked and drained some kind of meat in it; who does that, cooks meat in a saucepan? But enough complaining about roommates.

Psyche. Brian's holding my mail hostage, and there's a letter in there I'm a little anxious to get my hands on. Also he allowed the cat to get an eye infection, and now she's not eating? A terrible thing.

But I haven't gotten over that Lab Skuule schedule yet, so it's time for sleepin's. Goodnight.

Twelfth Sunday after Penecost

I will never get over how weird a word 'twelfth' is.

The storage company won't have a truck available tomorrow, so I had to move things up a day. I may ask about moving them back instead, since Jerett offered to let me stay a few more days, but I'm not too keen on reassembling the bed; I may stick with plan a (that's the Latin a, not to be confused with Plan A, with the Greek alpha... on second thought, perhaps I should call it something else). Plan b is out of the picture, so I may resort to plan c: couch surfing. You know who you are.

And instead of packing what little I've unpacked last night, I transformed a few more pages of the archives; this may be as far back as I can go with the robots' help, barring building new ones essentially from scratch, as the format undergoes a complete change. I may choose to spend some time cleaning up the entries that have already been transformed, however, before moving further back.

But I'm pretty sure no one cares. I care. I have standards. I like to hear myself talk.

Friday
"Jolt? I once considered buying that." -student Jason, 07/31/2008

  • Things I like: Black and white. Also, American music.
  • Things that, do you like them: Black and white? American music?

So! I got the housesitting gig for August, am talking to a guy about a September move-in in my preferred price range in Logan Square, my finances are in control and under close scrutiny thanks to the wonders of Mint, and I just finished my last day of Summer Lab for the year. Well, except I'm going in next week to talk to Cecilia about next summer. Because they've already as much as hired me for next year. Yesss.

Of course, that leaves the other ten months of the year. And this apartment sounds good, but I haven't met the guy yet, so who knows if that will work out. But it's hard not to be a little optimistic.

But I did have pizza from the B-Spot for supper while watching Beauty and the Beast, so it could just be that I am full of happiness particles.

Tuesday

  • Things I know: That you're scared.
  • Things I'd suggest: That you go back to the Bears, the Bears, the Bears.

I am starting to get a little tired of dealing with the same troublemakers for hours on end. This last week may be a bit wearing. Also, Baker says "automagically", like, nine times a day, and it is driving me (more) crazy.

Not really looking forward to flying solo in Web Design starting tomorrow.

Monday, kind of

  • Things not to fear: Death.
  • Things of which there are too many: Jumpy junkie thugs.
  • Things that, can't you feel them, they're buried deep inside us: Spiders.
  • Things that are catching on, catching on fire; things that are catching on fire: Everything, everything; everything.

I lay down to read a bit on Sunday afternoon and woke up at one am, went back to sleep, and woke up at one am. That first time, I musta been dreamin'. Whoops.

that evening

So it's been a thoroughly weird day, and very pleasant as well. Aside from all the weirdness endemic to a Gothic Funk party, it would still be pretty far up there. Suffer me as I relate the salient points.

It started out slow, just gettin' up at five-thirty like normal, takin' a shower, gettin' bagels to eat for breakfast and lunch. Commute, work, gym, commute, write a poem about chewing on someone's hair. And then, as I come home, after I enter the building and am waiting for the elevator, I notice a dude outside looking like he's about to come in, so I do the polite thing and open the door for him. As he comes in, I notice he's carrying a sort of long leather sling -with a gun sticking out of it. Unmistakably the butt, hammer, and chambers of a revolver-style firearm. And I'm thinking, "Oh man, if I just let a murderer in the building, I am going to be so pissed." But I get in the elevator with him anyway. And I'm thinking, "That looks too long and flat to be a rifle bag, and that's definitely not a rifle butt. What kind of revolver is that long?" Looking at the other end of the sling, I see what looks like a blade, so now I'm thinking "Oh, great, a sword and a gun. Either this guy is crazy or a weapons geek. But, wait.... is the sword connected to the gun? Like some kind of crazy sword-gun?" So finally I ask him, "So, I'm curious, what's that you've got there?"

"Oh, it's a gunblade," he says and pulls it out of the sheath to show me. "I had two of them, so I'm giving this one to a buddy of mine who lives here."

Yeah.

Then I walked to the beach for the party (beach party in walking distance, yay!) bringing with me a cutting board, an onion, a knife, and some special bratwurst mustard I happened to have. It was good times, hanging out, eating grill food, talking about the ocean and music and tatoos. The party moved and became a concert, moved again and became a swimming and stargazing expedition, and moved again to Moody's, which may well be a good resteraunt, but isn't much of a bar. At some point in there I went home and brought everyone some much desired water, and also discussed with Barbara what song would be best to make everyone in the world listen to, a question that had still not been answered by the time of our arrival at Moody's Pub.

Our waitress at this Irish pub also spoke with a thick accent. A thick French accent. Will Deitz was there, and it totally wasn't awkward at all for anyone, no sir. But I predicted I could trick him into buying me a drink, and accidentally tricked him into buying all the drinks. Whoops! But eventually we all went home, which for me involved walking two blocks. Score!

Coming into the building for the third time today, I decided to take the stairs. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a box full of old electronics, including an original NES, sans cables, and three controllers. Score! Though they were lookin' pretty "take them if you want them"-style abandoned, I decided to give it a good amount of time before pulling them back out of the continuum and into my loving arms. After what I considered to be a reasonable interval, I went back out to claim them, and they were still there, waiting patiently for a man like me to come and sweep them away. So I did. Though I don't know if they work, of course, but then again, I don't really care. I don't feel I need to explain this.

Also there was bratwurst at the party. So, yeah, pretty awesome day.