Greetings, Blog. It is nine o'clock Wednesday night and in case you are wondering, Sarah is not dead, even though she lives but blocks from the scene of this car crash. Like me, she is impervious to all physical harm.
I'm sitting on the steps of the Farm House Museum on the Iowa State campus. I tried to go to the library to use the wireless but it did not function. Here on the concrete steps, with mosquitoes buzzing around and the acid orange glow of the streetlamps, it works. Goathead and I spent the last 48 hours in a hellish daze, moving out of our apartment and into a uhaul, then out of our uhaul and into a parking lot, then, hours later, out of the parking lot and into the new place. Which is god damned lovely.
Here's something I wrote before moving out, in the height of my boredom. It is ramblish and of little consequence unless you are bored.
:
Cricket is gone to Wisconsin now to teach and to live in his townhouse and Goathead lives in Des Moines for the summer and this apartment is a crazy house of silence and open bedrooms and bloated cardboard boxes. The living room is quickly crowding with disassembled furniture and hampers full of clothes I haven’t worn in three years. The internet worked by dumping the contents of its tubes into John’s router, and so now this apartment is void of online communications and by the time you read this I will have slept on the couch and woken up and taken a shower and probably gone to a coffee shop to waste time looking for zombie-themed merchandise and other assorted and unnecessary consumables on ebay and etsy.
There’s an ever-changing cavalcade of strange vehicles outside, presumably in connection with other people in the neighborhood moving. Yesterday, for example, there was a twenty-foot cow trailer parked against the curb. Today it’s a series of vans.
If you heard about the Wes Beary Memorial Lava Lamp, which you probably didn’t, know this: we now have it. I hope to put it next to our record player with its own little plaque. My hope is that people will ask if he’s dead. No, I’ll say. What kind of morbid fuck are you? We just like to remember him. All the time. Even in the bathroom.
I haven’t written here much, which I can assure you is not due to a lack of free time. The only job I seriously tried to get was with a temp agency in Des Moines, and when I finally got around to calling them, they told me they’d filled their summer rosters and had no use for me. After that, I walked back into Café Diem and drank green tea like it was whiskey. That was back in early June, though, when I’d already been falling into bed at dawn and writing all afternoon and cooking elaborate meals for myself all evening and then staying up reading comics and watching DVDs all night, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that a summer unemployed, while financially perilous, would have its benefits. Now, almost two months later, I really haven’t done much to be proud of save ditch yet another project and climb around a fake rock wall and spend a lot of time at Sarah’s apartment in Minneapoolis and plow through my bank account.
Monday night and Tuesday of next week Goathead and I move to a new place. We only looked at two apartments, and when we walked into the second I was so in love that I almost started humping the deer head hanging on the wall. The living room looked so damn nice and had a built-in bookshelf by the windows and the bedrooms looked bigger than mine. Now I’ve driven by again and parked outside and really, it doesn’t look so big from the parking lot. It looks about the same size as the place we live in now. I’m hoping my memories are more accurate than my eyes, but am getting nervous. We’ll have to have dinner up here some week, if any of you Des Moinies are up for the drive, and Goathead and I can show you the new apartment. And, of course, the WBMLL.
This upcoming fall I actually have to work for my money again. I’m teaching freshmen to write papers, like Goathead did last year, and the closer we get to the beginning of school the weirder I feel about it. I’m experiencing a blend of dread and anticipation. It’s the same feeling I’d have before going into a pit to fight three blind gladiators with swords. In all likelihood I’m going to get my head cleaved off from the collar up, but I still want to think I can dropkick everyone in the groin and make it out on top. The second someone fucks with me in class, it’s hard to say whether I’ll try to ignore it or decapitate him with our textbook. After, I’ll mount the head above the white board as a warning to the others.
It’s sort of funny that the lack of internet access has turned me bored enough to write a post for a blog.
I'm sitting on the steps of the Farm House Museum on the Iowa State campus. I tried to go to the library to use the wireless but it did not function. Here on the concrete steps, with mosquitoes buzzing around and the acid orange glow of the streetlamps, it works. Goathead and I spent the last 48 hours in a hellish daze, moving out of our apartment and into a uhaul, then out of our uhaul and into a parking lot, then, hours later, out of the parking lot and into the new place. Which is god damned lovely.
Here's something I wrote before moving out, in the height of my boredom. It is ramblish and of little consequence unless you are bored.
:
Cricket is gone to Wisconsin now to teach and to live in his townhouse and Goathead lives in Des Moines for the summer and this apartment is a crazy house of silence and open bedrooms and bloated cardboard boxes. The living room is quickly crowding with disassembled furniture and hampers full of clothes I haven’t worn in three years. The internet worked by dumping the contents of its tubes into John’s router, and so now this apartment is void of online communications and by the time you read this I will have slept on the couch and woken up and taken a shower and probably gone to a coffee shop to waste time looking for zombie-themed merchandise and other assorted and unnecessary consumables on ebay and etsy.
There’s an ever-changing cavalcade of strange vehicles outside, presumably in connection with other people in the neighborhood moving. Yesterday, for example, there was a twenty-foot cow trailer parked against the curb. Today it’s a series of vans.
If you heard about the Wes Beary Memorial Lava Lamp, which you probably didn’t, know this: we now have it. I hope to put it next to our record player with its own little plaque. My hope is that people will ask if he’s dead. No, I’ll say. What kind of morbid fuck are you? We just like to remember him. All the time. Even in the bathroom.
I haven’t written here much, which I can assure you is not due to a lack of free time. The only job I seriously tried to get was with a temp agency in Des Moines, and when I finally got around to calling them, they told me they’d filled their summer rosters and had no use for me. After that, I walked back into Café Diem and drank green tea like it was whiskey. That was back in early June, though, when I’d already been falling into bed at dawn and writing all afternoon and cooking elaborate meals for myself all evening and then staying up reading comics and watching DVDs all night, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that a summer unemployed, while financially perilous, would have its benefits. Now, almost two months later, I really haven’t done much to be proud of save ditch yet another project and climb around a fake rock wall and spend a lot of time at Sarah’s apartment in Minneapoolis and plow through my bank account.
Monday night and Tuesday of next week Goathead and I move to a new place. We only looked at two apartments, and when we walked into the second I was so in love that I almost started humping the deer head hanging on the wall. The living room looked so damn nice and had a built-in bookshelf by the windows and the bedrooms looked bigger than mine. Now I’ve driven by again and parked outside and really, it doesn’t look so big from the parking lot. It looks about the same size as the place we live in now. I’m hoping my memories are more accurate than my eyes, but am getting nervous. We’ll have to have dinner up here some week, if any of you Des Moinies are up for the drive, and Goathead and I can show you the new apartment. And, of course, the WBMLL.
This upcoming fall I actually have to work for my money again. I’m teaching freshmen to write papers, like Goathead did last year, and the closer we get to the beginning of school the weirder I feel about it. I’m experiencing a blend of dread and anticipation. It’s the same feeling I’d have before going into a pit to fight three blind gladiators with swords. In all likelihood I’m going to get my head cleaved off from the collar up, but I still want to think I can dropkick everyone in the groin and make it out on top. The second someone fucks with me in class, it’s hard to say whether I’ll try to ignore it or decapitate him with our textbook. After, I’ll mount the head above the white board as a warning to the others.
It’s sort of funny that the lack of internet access has turned me bored enough to write a post for a blog.
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