I’m off to the House of Blues tonight—which is neither a house nor is featuring any blues—to see a man known as Jim James, who I have never heard of, the lead singer of a band known as My Morning Jacket, which I have heard of but never heard. I’ve waffled back and forth on whether I should brush up on the Oeuvre or just fly blind, ultimately landing I think on flying blind, because it might be more exciting. Ironically this show would have been about 30 fucktillion times easier to attend a few months ago, back when I was living over on that part of town and could have easily just walked or called a Lyft or something, cause now I gotta deal with stinky parking. But it’s cool, my buddy snagged the tickets and I get to sit up on the balcony like a legitimate old person, which I am rapidly becoming.
For instance, last weekend the highlight of my life was finally installing some track-based sliding curtain panels in the bedroom, a mammoth victory in this new house with its camping chairs and bar stools being used as honest to goodness living and dining room furniture. I was so happy with the curtains that even today I stood there in front of them admiring them, wondering if there was anything else I could do to make this house more like a home aside from any one of the numerous pie in the sky projects that pretty much all start with “rip up the.”
It is a brave new world for me, such as it is, adapting to a new commute, handling some increased pressure at work, experiencing for the first time the joys and peculiarities of home ownership, and trying to continue to support my lady on her quest to become a badass principal. But we are in better places than we were three years ago today, when she was getting ragged on by her administration and I was just finishing up a gig temping at a greeting card company as the days ticked by from “still have a job” to “too late for anyone to order any Christmas cards now, see ya.” Compared to those days, four months back in the United States, buried in insurmountable daily debt, wondering if anyone would ever deem me fit to perform even a cursory task in exchange for money, things are practically taking place in an alternate galaxy. Now, with Home, we are merely buried in inconceivable debt, easing right into our new lives as Americans.
CURIOUS AMERICA THINGS OF THE NOW
– We started watching a television show called Westworld, which is to say Jessy managed to pull herself away from her lesson planning for long enough to enjoy a single hour of recreation
– I cannot decide whether Mint Oreos or Mint Oreo Thins are better, you get less Thins in a package, but they are so crispy, and the Stuf is portioned out just a little more conservatively which I appreciate, but that classic Oreo cookie is hard to beat
– These are the only two happenings of note that immediately came to my mind
THAT IS ALL THAT IS HAPPENING IN AMERICA, NOTHING ELSE
We’re probably off to Pennsylvania for the holidays, which poses a variety of new and interesting travel quandaries, like what to do with this gosh darn cat, who against(?) his wishes was lugged as part of my gage all the way from Kobe to here. I don’t mind leaving him, but a week or so is kind of a long time. Whatever we decide to do with him, I expect the trip will be like olden days, me and Jessy kickin’ up dust as we roll across this great nation, bleary-eyed and convenience store fueled, rest stop aficionados.