UPDATE: Sorry if I'm a bit scarce of late - it's been a real crazy couple of months.
No music this time - just old man fuddy duddy news.
At the start of the summer all was as usual. I was my typical anarcho-syndicalist collectivist Creative Commons techno-utopian self without little activity on the Federal radar.
And then I proposed. Suddenly, I was becoming an institution of sorts.
And yesterday, I signed 144 pages of a mortgage agreement with over 100 data points pulled by various credit bureaus and Federal agencies to make sure I was really me and not some bearded yahoo who escaped from El Salvador and was hiding out until the coup is complete.
(Above) Not me.
So in a few months' time I've gone from anarchism to a tax-payin' home-ownin' man of the town. Never in a million years would I have called this one.
My converted 1920s hotel post-collegiate apartment was affectionately known as "The Lair." I soon upgraded to my current residence - a 2nd story flat in an old house which we call "The Manor." Clawfoot velvet furniture, Victorian antiques and vintage sound equipment in every nook and cranny... we'd really done everything we could to make our first apartment together like a home.
Our new house is much in the spirit of our shared tastes - a bungalow built in 1926 with gorgeous hardwood floors throughout, great mantle and bookcases and an updated gas-lit marble-framed fireplace (above which I'll hang my favorite H.G. Wells painting).
It has all the charm of a '20s bungalow plus all the modern amenities to make it comfortable - new windows, new tear-off roof, new high-efficiency gas furnace, new hot water tank, new electrical, new copper piping, a shaded porch and garden, and all that.
We'll need a proper name for the joint, but I'll have the next 60 days to work that out while the bank does it's thing.
Man, it's been a busy three months.