Half-Assed Homemaker

I was speaking with a friend last night, someone I see once in a while when I'm out and about. We were swapping stories and discovered that we both did time at 411 Park. Now 411 Park, or Parkside as it is also known, is not a penitentiary... It's much worse. Disguised as a reasonably nice condo building, it is where renters go to die. You see, I found out that, like me old Joe Miller took up residence in that building after having to leave an apartment he was happily renting. Also like me, the wake up call at how a shitty this turned out to be was sufficient to turn him into a homeowner. He did six months there, I did five.

Oddly enough, his experience occurred there before a bunch of lawsuits and subsequent renovation to fix code violations had occurred and to me they didn't make a damn bit of difference. A building with narrow hallways, paper thin walls, cardboard-esque doors nestled quaintly between a highway and train tracks and under a flight path is no place to call home.

We finally cleaned out that garage. It is astounding how much space we freed up considering the mass of things we actually got rid of. Most of the problem was that the garage we sparsely occupied and there was a large number of cardboard boxes that we do not need. By getting rid of the boxes, I have, in some wierd way commited to the products that came in those boxes. Most of them were recenlty acquired items except for the box to a CRT monitor from 1999. I did keep the box to my desktop mac and Travis's breadmaker.

The goal is to use it as a studio/workshop/spot for the bikes.

He was darting from under one parked car to another, speaking to us here and there. At some points, he joined us on the sidewalk, he's a hyper little clown. He followed us to the house, lapped up some soymilk, yadda yadda yadda, he wouldn't stay off the bed, yadda yadda I was spooning up some beans and rice for him this morning at around 6.