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Interwebs & Stone Tablets

My Internet access has been severely lacking. As in, no-Internet-access. Zilch.

My world has consisted of moving.moving.moving, being sick with something prolonged from moving.moving.moving and occasionally reading old world newspapers I find on the porch. Which, for someone accustomed to getting 98.6% of his news from the Interwebs, feels like dragging around and deciphering a stone tablet. It's not right.

Heavy, too.

Anyhoo, moving is essentially complete! Got my brother all packed and his pile o' crap hoistered over to storage. Got myself packed. My roomie got all packed. Then we ventured forth, three blocks west, into our new much-more-spacious place.

The cats approve. Especially when it comes to the stairwell, the creepy basement, and all of the sunshiny windows.

Rat approves, too.

My last injection was on Thursday, which was the big moving day. I got it over with first thing in the morning. Left thigh. Went smooth as butta. No bleeding.

I've learned quickly that this new neighborhood I'm living in is by far the most hyper-social little knook I've ever lived in. It's like an amazing little ghetto distant world of its own. I think I met pretty much every single neighbor on day one. And LDS missionaries, too!

For example, just Saturday while sitting on the porch in a rocking chair drinking root beer and reading How to Talk Dirty and Influence People by Lenny Bruce with my roomie, in less than 10 minutes a topless neighbor with a trucker cap emerged from across the way. "Hey, I'm Mike! You the new neighbors?"

He then hopped the little ragged old fence for introductions and we directed him to our back yard to scavenge the slew of furniture and knick knacks the previous tenants had left behind. He couldn't contain his excitement while hauling tables, little stools, chairs, and a gazillion other things back over into his little abode.

In other news, while visiting my grandma n' grandpa with the 'rents and brother last week, every time my brother used feminine pronouns my grandma would whack him and correct it. Bwha!

Oh, and while peddling around on my bicycle downtown last week I received the best line ever from a feller in his car. Pure genius.

When I came to a stop light at an intersection while going down a road with bike lanes, I made sure to leave enough room to my right for cars to turn.

Then this little dinky truck pulls up to my right and, as he turns and zips off, screams as loud as he could muster with this thick, irritated drawl, "THAT AIN'T NO CAR!"

Um.

Yep.

p.s. got a new camera battery! Awkward photo documentation coming next time, I reluctantly reckon.

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