Housing

Where will I live next year?

On Lamont Street with a bunch of socialist professionals who have been living in a group house since before I was a gleam in my parents' eye? They seem terribly organized, which fits with me. Indoor parking for the bike. Funny rules about meat that would annoy me more than cramp my style. It would be a walk to the metro, but then, maybe I could ride bike there. Except when it rains...

With Tim Godshall and other assorted Mennonite-diaspora people on Harvard? Closer to a metro (three blocks) and also with a garage for the motorcycle. Two spots opening, but lots of applicants Tim says and I really doubt I have the social bulk necessary to secure a spot ahead of other applicants.

In a basement under Carlos and Daiesha's (sp?) house? Very close to a metro at only one block. I'd be living alone, a totally new experience for me. I haven't actually gotten anywhere on this. I'll make Celeste call them when she hauls her ass back here. (We're over halfway, which is very nice.)

Somewhere that David High, the tall, cautious-voiced, long-haired Catholic U architecture student I knew from church in Lancaster locates? My mother told me on the phone that she is doubtful about the depth and usefulness of his contacts, but he seemed reasonably secure in his ability.

Somewhere else? Ellen said she'd keep her ear to the ground, and she will, she will.

And now the smell of the curry potatoes curls up the stairs in salutations of fennugreek and coriander, ginger and garlic. Oh the time I wasted cooking that I should've spent researching the international coffee crisis. But I got to talk to Hallie about ants and people so that was good. I also talked to the ants. We all do.

Oh, and this: yesterday at work there was an old tub of strawberries filled with assorted crackers. Someone had labeled it in black marker, intentionally or unintentionally abbreviating "assorted" into its first three letters. Darla and I could barely hold it in. "Did you label these?" I asked Rosa. "It's assorted crackers," she said, looking in the tub and then waving it at me, seeming to believe that I didn't understand the abbreviation at all rather than much too well. "I don't think she gets it," I whispered to Darla later. Darla shook her head slightly and laughed back.
posted by weiss @ 12:43 PM