(Phaysis)

So the apartment saga grows more absurd. I’ve been without an Internet connection since Thursday because of the actions of idiots. There is a small construction crew doing work on the apartment complex; they’re rebuilding the supports for all the upper-floor walkways, replacing the rotting wooden vertical beams with steel. Fine, I say.

But Thursday, I noticed that my ssh connection to my house had gone dead. Nothing I could do from work would bring it back. OK, I thought. So after I finally get home, I take a look. The power to the apartment is on; it didn’t burn in a fire; the server was running and was responsive; but the cable modem was offline. So I log into the cable modem, the signal level was low enough that it basically said “Hey, I’m physically disconnected.” So I grab my flashlight and look outside, tracing the cable line as far as I can. Didn’t take long before I found the problem: the construction crew intentionally cut my cable line. They cut a lot of people’s lines. Intentionally.

So I called Time Warner and let them know what was going on; they’ll send me a tech to service the line, but the soonest he can come out is — get this — Sunday. Three days without Internet at my apartment. I had a nice little chat with the landlady about it the next morning. She basically covered for their stupid asses and made excuses. Blowing smoke, basically. “Oh, they had to do that, it was in the way…they’ll fix it today.” Like I trust welders to repair my telecommunications lines. By end of Friday, you know what happened? Absolutely nothing. They didn’t fix it. Why did she feel like it was necessary to lie like that?

At least I know I’m not the only one inconvenienced by the debacle. There were at least ten other lines cut. My only hope is that Time Warner will take notice and see fit to fine the apartment management for letting this happen, and that the management will pass the buck on to the contractors. It’s a damn good thing I’m moving out; this whole things just feels like a final “Fuck you, get out” sort of thing.

On a positive note, my lease application was accepted at the new place, and all I gotta do is sign the lease agreement, decide on a move-in date, and write a check. Can’t wait. Been slowly moving stuff out of my apartment and into the storage. Now that I’ve gotten a lot of stuff trashed, given away, or stashed in the storage unit, the amount of stuff I have doesn’t seem so unbearable.

Quick note to inform you guys that I’m intending to move out of my apartment by month’s end. The neighbors upstairs have gotten aggressive with their noisemaking, and since my lease expires on the 30th, it’s high time to get the fuck out. Tired of being rudely awakened every morning before 7 by their stomping and chores. We had a “discussion” in the breezeway yesterday, and it came out that my sarcastic note on their door (as well as my banging on my ceiling) meant I was an asshole. “At least have the decency to talk to us,” they said. Like that would end well.

That was all the prompting I needed to find a place and get wheels in motion. I checked out a place coming up for rent that adds 120 square feet for only $85 more. It’s one more exit up MoPac, but I’ll live. Put in my application, application fee, and earnest money on the place…here’s hoping my rental and background check come up OK. Assuming that’ll fly, then I got it. Here’s hoping.

Rented a storage unit as a way-station for my packing. It’s what I did last time I moved, and it proved immensely useful to have things mostly moved out so all I needed to do on moving day was furniture and a few final boxes, and then move all my stuff from the storage unit to my new place on my own leisure. I’m doing that this time, too, mostly to ensure that I can get out as fast as possible.

In that light, I’ve been digging through my boxes. Can you believe I’ve come across at least five boxes full of miscellaneous paper crap that I’ll never, ever need? We’re talking bills from 1997, check stubs from jobs I had a decade ago, paperwork for health insurance I’m no longer covered by. Like who the hell needs that crap?

If it’s older than 2007, do I really need it? No. No I don’t. So unless it’s something interesting, like a sketch, doodle, greeting card, letter, tax paperwork, or something to do with any of my current concerns, it’s perfect fodder for the shredder and trash bag. Seriously, I’ve collected too much bullshit, and it’s time to clean that bull out. So far, I’ve liberated five boxes. Immensely gratifying. And there’s more to come!

I’m really hoping I’ll get this place. It’s got a balcony, it’s upstairs, has outside storage, and except for the smaller kitchen is more spacious. There’s some quirks that I’ll have to adjust to, but all told, it’s a change for the better. Wish me luck.

I took today off. For working that late schedule last week, we were offered 8 hours comp time, and I took mine today. Mid-week was fine. I was actually busy today; a positive side benefit of having a day off during the week is that every place is open for business, busses run on a more frequent schedule, and lines are shorter since everybody else is at work. Win!

Got up this morning at 7:30, spontaneously (been doing that lately…I blame my back). Took a shower, got dressed, checked the web, and took my car to the dealership for a 9:00 appointment to get my timing belt, water pump, serpentine belts, and dry seals replaced. Handed over the keys, walked next door to Thunderbird Coffee. Had a bagel and a cup. Caught the glare of a mildly nutty woman who muttered constantly to herself; first thing I heard her say was “I’m not crazy” as I walked past. Good times.

There’s this one annoying band that apparently every barrista in this damn town loves to play during their shift. Peter Bjorn and John. Fuck those guys. Every god-damned time I hear the barristas play those earworms, I want to smash the tip jar. If I never hear another god-damned tune of theirs again, I’ll be happy. It’s like “PBJ” is this year’s Moldy Peaches. Stabby. So yeah, the barristas at Thunderbird played them, and after suffering that nonsense at my other usual joints, I finally researched and discovered who it was, and now I know the true name of the devil. Dammit.

I drown out the nonsense with an album by the Greek-born DJ Dousk. A few weeks back, I heard a chillout DJ mix on the Digitally Imported Chillout stream which included a few songs he wrote; I learned who he was and picked up his album “D.I.Y.” In my opinion, this guy is one of the best understated trance-ambient musicians and DJs this year. If this stuff came from Greece, I have to wonder what else is growing wild around Europe. With it queued up on my music player, this album eventually became the soundtrack to my day.

So, with a bagel and a cup in me, I put on my headphones and ambled up the road four blocks back to my apartment for some sittin’ down, chillout lunch time. My friend Josh posted a link to a 25-part series called Rail Away, highlighting tourism and travel by rail in several countries and what kind of sites and attractions you can see during your journey. I got a few of the episodes in over the course of the day, and now I have the wanderlust to travel Europe again. I cursed Josh for giving me that itch.

I answered that itch, somewhat, by leaving the house after lunch. Since I had no car and had the day off, I decided to hop the bus downtown. Discovered that the #5 Woodrow route goes from my front door to the downtown core; all this time, I assumed it bypassed downtown and went to Riverside. Who knew? Not I. Also discovered how handy the Capital Metro trip planner is; you give it endpoints, and it tells you the routes, transfers, and times to the next connection. Sooo much easier than looking at PDFs and timetables (wooble).

Took the bus downtown and hung out at the Hideout. It’d been a few weeks since I last went. Was nice to sit there in the window during daylight hours; you see all the suits, normals, junkies, and hotties strolling past. Daytime barrista was friendly, too. Got some pictures of one of the cow sculptures that have appeared around town; apparently it’s a citywide art installation called Cow Parade, and each cow is decorated by a different person and will be auctioned off for charity. Kinda like those 8-foot tall guitar sculptures, I guess.

While at the Hideout, I got a call from the service manager telling me my car was repaired and ready. Hopped the next bus back up. Stood in the 104°F heat for 20 minutes waiting on the return bus with the belly full of black coffee; ugh. But got back to the dealership, wrote the check ($$$), picked up my car, and headed back home. Watched more train videos.

After cooling my heals, I got hungry. Had dinner at Pho Thaison. Egg roll and #1 Pho. It was the best Pho I’ve had in weeks. So damn good, I actually had a mouth-gasm. Woah mama. If you haven’t been there, I suggest you go to the location on Anderson Lane. The best in town, in my opinion.

Had my after-dinner coffee at Epoch. Chatted with my cafe buddies Willie and Doug (decent folk, all). Sweat my ass off on the porch; since I don’t smoke anymore, I don’t much get any benefit from sitting out in the heat if nobody I know is there. So after they went off, I headed home, too.

But instead of home, I went driving, following the drifting winds like a rudderless boat. Ended up at Waterloo Records. Picked up “4×4=12” by Deadmau5, and then, related to some of our discussion at Epoch, got a pair of Neil Young albums: “Harvest Moon” (1992) and “Dead Man [soundtrack]” (1996). Also got a copy of “The Big Lebowski” and “Kingpin“, which I’ve been seeking for a while now. I have the “Dead Man” soundtrack playing now, and it has put a nice polish on this decent mood I’m in. Do yourself a favor and watch the movie, and you will appreciate the power of the soundtrack; some of Young’s finest work.

So here I am, busy yet rested. Got a glass of vodka on the rocks, “Dead Man” on the playlist, a fresh blog entry, a full belly, tired feet, maintained car, new experiences, a wanderlust, and a decent mood. All told, it’s been a good day.

I think I need to move North.

This isn’t a funny-ha-ha because I’m currently living in the hottest, driest part of a summer scorcher in central Texas, but because I miss having weather to talk about. I miss having a change of seasons. I miss being thrilled when winter thaws to bring on the swell of spring, or when summer cools to bring the awe of autumn. There are cycles in weather. There are overcast days. There are clear blue skies. There’s frozen precipitation. A cold front is a guarantee of rain. And rain can go on for days. In central Texas, not so much.

I’ve been looking at pictures of Europe, Canada, and Alaska during the summertime, and I’m floored by how lush and vibrant everything is. Flowers on the hillsides. Mountains typically covered in snow are rolling in tall green grass. Even the areas less picturesque are still in bloom. Since the winters are harsh, sometimes unforgiving, everything that grows takes the fullest advantage when it can. So the greens are greener. The woods are thicker. Nature has a narrow window to thrive, and it does it at full power. Our green season is in April, but we’re south of the latitude that stays green. Everything below that turns brown and red and becomes arid, so our green season ends in June.

It’s been 11 years since I moved to Austin, and I will confess that I love this place. It’s usually dry, so the driving is decently safe, roadwise. It’s usually sunny, so the sightseeing is abundant. It’s usually warm, so people wear less more often. It’s a great town and a good area. But that’s just it: these are constants. We have our “cold” months between December and mid-march; maybe a bit of snow once or twice every three years. Otherwise, it’s the same-old. Excepting the four-month scorching drought of summer, this area is flatlined as far as seasons go.

Austin is the Paxil of seasonal weather.

I like that I can drive on dry roads and stroll around during 40°F nights during the winter, but I want some variety. There’s a reason most of the best electronic bands come from the north; for 5 months of the year, they’re locked in and snowed under with little to do outside. There’s a rich life indoors. And when the winter thaws, oh damn do they throw some parties. The ones locked up the most have the wildest throwdowns because that’s their limited window of opportunity. They have to bring out their colors. They have to bring on their rut. They have to live it up because that’s their time to shine in the sun. Winter is constantly around the corner, so motivation is strong.

It’s always nice weather here; even when it’s shitty, it’s still relatively nice. So what’s the rush here? There’s always a nice weekend to have a barbecue or sit on the porch. Central Texans live on a different clock. But when most northern cultures are living it up, we’re either stuck inside due to overheating (and hating the boredom) or biking/kayaking/climbing because that’s what hard-core “extreme” people do (the rest of us sweat miserably and do nothing because we’re stifled).

I know I don’t do well in cold weather, but that’s a matter of training and acclimation. I don’t think I would mind learning how to handle it. If the yankees will teach me how to survive the winter, I think I could find it in my heart to teach them how to survive the summer. Deal?

I remember way back long ago there was a time when I had Really Deep Thoughts about Really Big Things, and I loved to sit up late at night and think them, roll them around, write about them, get drunk on their meanings. The world was so big and so large and so grand and so rich with future promise!

And then I left my 20′s.

Oh, Journal, how I miss your sweet philosophical kisses.