The Joys of Moving

Way back in 2004, Sylvia and I moved into our first condo together. Twenty wonderful friends and family members helped us cram all our formerly-separate stuff together into one new abode. As one might expect, it was a little cramped at first:

Living Room, Breathing Room

If you've ever played the computer game The Sims, you know that the game's titular characters are affected positively or negatively by their surroundings; they have a "room" score. The nicer the room, the happier your Sims will be.

This is what my Baywood Park apartment looked like when Sylvia and I started dating. As you can see, Sylvia is mashed into a tiny space on the couch, surrounded by towers of clutter. I still feel that any room is nicer with bookshelves, but Sylvia has very different aesthetic priorities. Her "room" score always took a dive whenever she visited my place, and with good reason; every room of my two-bedroom abode was filled with similar piles of stuff, save the bathroom. When we moved into our first condo, it took several weeks to sort out all of my stuff and bring some semblance of order back into our lives. During this time, Sylvia would often pace up and down the halls of our new home, her eyeballs rolling around madly in their sockets. Sylvia is orderly.

So am I, but only when it comes to my books and movies; those are all carefully arranged by alphabetical order or genre. Unfortunately for Sylvia, this touch of OCD is limited to media; it does not extend to arranging furniture, sorting laundry, fixing appliances and so on. This is almost certainly because I feel that the books I read and the movies I watch reflect my identity in some way. They're an expression of my outlook and style, though what message they send I'm not sure. I don't feel the same way about decor, though thanks to Sylvia I'm learning to appreciate that subtle art a little more. I actually had when Sylvia and I unpacked our artwork and hung various paintings and photographs around the house. It really does make a difference in the feel of our home. And even though I have a high tolerance for household clutter, I have to admit that from time to time I'll go on a cleaning binge to straighten out the mayhem of my office. I always feel better when I do, too.

There's something quite satisfying about forging order from chaos every once in a while. Sylvia's helped me appreciate this aspect of life a little more, one of many reasons why I'm so grateful to have her in my life.

Moving Heaven and Earl

Mom and Dad were kind enough to lend Sylvia and me their truck for our move, and Sean loaned us his brawn. As a result, we're mostly moved in, with much gratitude to my family!

Just a few dozen more boxes of books to go...

"I thought you said you'd see me in hell before you moved these boxes."

"Well, now I've seen hell. Contrary to popular belief, hell is not other people, and it's not the absence of god. It's boxes of books piled to the ceiling. Get an ebook reader for the love of all that's holy."

Now that we have a bigger place, Mom and Dad don't have to store my leftover campaign signs from the 2008 provincial election. Or my old Star Wars action figure...or my grade school report cards...

Boxing Myself In

Several months ago, Sylvia and I stored some of our stuff at my parents' place to make our first condo less cramped and more attractive to prospective buyers. Yesterday, Sean and I travelled to Leduc to borrow Mom and Dad's truck and to pick up this first load of stuff. Unfortunately, I managed to box myself into the basement. Planning ahead is important when you move. (Sean rescued me after taking this humiliating photo.)

Sean and I are moving more boxes today. Sylvia is so excited that she's figuratively bouncing off the walls. Fun!

First Glimpse at Our New Home

Yesterday Sylvia and I took possession of our new condo! Thanks to Sylvia's excellent money management and our realtor's amazing negotiating skills, we have a beautiful new home with all the room I'll ever need for all my books.

I'd like to reiterate how pleased we are with Patrick Fields, our realtor. He was a model of professionalism and kindness throughout the entire process, and Sylvia and I have no hesitation about recommending his services to anyone looking to buy or sell a new home. He helped make an inherently stressful experience much more pleasant.

Of course, we still have to move our stuff, which will involve lugging around hundreds of heavy, book-filled boxes. This time, though, I thought ahead and borrowed a dolly, which should make the job a lot easier. Photos to come!

Sean and the Boxes

Those of you who aren't on Facebook shouldn't miss Sean's clever vandalization of the grafitti I sent to him tonight. Ah, the wonders of moving into a new home...

Sold!

Sylvia and I have really enjoyed our time at The Pointe West on the Lake, but we've outgrown it. It's time for something bigger and better. Fortunately, our realtor Patrick has been a wonderful resource, full of excellent advice. Our unit has sold, and we're sure the new owners will love it as much as we did.

Now we're hunting for something new - a bungalow-style condo with a finished basement somewhere on the west end. There aren't a lot of properties out there that fit our specific needs, so I'm hoping that we'll have a new home before we need to move out of The Pointe West. Otherwise, we'll have to move into my brother's apartment! Fortunately, I've calculated that all of our stuff will fit if we use the entire volume of Sean's place - stacking boxes from floor to ceiling, piling the furniture like Tetris blocks. It'll be an adventure!

In all seriousness, our realtor Patrick Fields has done an incredible job, and we feel lucky to have him. Thanks Patrick!

Condo for Sale - Huge Stacks of Books Not Included

Sylvia and I are looking for a bigger place to live, chiefly because I have accumulated too many books. If anyone's interested in a very nice two and a half bedroom, two bathroom apartment-style condo, let us know.

Roleplaying Games Without Frontiers

I finally figured out what Peter Gabriel is singing at the beginning of "Games Without Frontiers." It's "Jeux sans frontiers" - i.e., "Games without frontiers" in French. Duuuhhh. Well, it was news to me.

Every two or three weeks, I get together with friends to roleplay. Most people are at least vaguely aware of the concept, thanks to Dungeons & Dragons or drama classes. My group is playing Forbidden Kingdoms, a pulp-era roleplaying game. I play Cain Hood, a grim, bloody-minded crimefighter. Here's his character description:

Taciturn, ruthless, violent, fiercely loyal to the Commonwealth, dedicated to protecting the innocent…and perhaps just a little insane: that’s Cain Hood, born on Jarvis Island (a usually uninhabited British possession in the south Pacific) to a Welsh father and an Indian mother, both adventurers, both dead, murdered by agents of the Divine Claw (see below).

Cain is a tall man, over six feet, heavily muscled, but agile. He has a short shock of jet-black hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. He is thirty-six.

Cain is a master martial artist, expert torturer, and merciless foe. His chief weapons are his fists (often complemented by brass knuckles), his trusty Tommy gun (nicknamed, for reasons known only to Cain, “Jenny”), liberally thrown sticks of dynamite, and a sap.

Cain is, at heart, a decent man, not without a sense of humour (if a somewhat macabre one). He has a weakness for children, beautiful women, and marine life, particularly dolphins.

Lately Cain and his compatriots have been searching for a scientist, a man who went hunting for Bigfoot (such creatures actually exist in this world) and went mysteriously missing. Travelling from the UK to British Columbia to Yuma, Arizona, Cain and the band found themselves fighting sword-wielding werewolves, cyborg monkeys, suspicious townspeople, aggressive homeless persons (dispatched with a great deal of guilt with a sap to the teeth), and, of course, Nazis.

Below I attempt to dramatize a fraction of last weekend's adventures:

A night of carousing every once in a while keeps a crimefighter'sinstincts sharp. You can learn a lot about people when they drop their guard - and you can learn a lot about yourself when you let your own defences down.

But sometimes, letting those defences down has deadly consequences. One minute I was tossing back a shot glass full of Jim Beam...thenext, I was flat on my back in a six by six prison cell, head pounding. I went through my pockets. All the weapons were gone, of course, but I still had my Zippo. I tried lighting the door on fire, thinking that might draw the attention of the guards I presumed existed beyond the walls of my cell, but the wood stubbornly refused to catch. Not a surprise, really, but I had limited options.

I surveyed the room. Adobe walls, tin roof - rusted. My decidedly non-gilded cage had only a bare wooden bench and a chamberpot to adorn it.

So I did the only thing I could: I filled the pot.

With urine, ofcourse. I knew that someone would come eventually, and I needed to be ready.

So, chamberpot in hand, I waited. And after a while, my patience was rewarded.

'Stand away from the door!' someone barked - a German, from the accent. I stood my ground, and the door swung open. They were German,all right; one was bending over to place a tray on the ground, a tray laden with water and gruel. The other held a submachinegun levelled at my chest.I flung the chamberpot. The heavy tin bucket struck the standing guard in the face, spraying his eyes with urine.

'Was is dist?' he cried, 'Mein coupon!'

I immediately kicked the crouching man in the face. His teeth shattered,and his nose broke into deadly splinters, sundering his brain. He died without a sound. I pivoted forward, snapping my other boot into the first guard's groin. He grunted; I'd missed his privates by bare inches. But another kick found its mark, driving the family jewels up into his throat - I'm sure he was tasting his testicles, and I hoped they tasted bitter indeed. He fell into a foetal position, retching. I took his submachinegun and pistol, found another pistol on the man I'd killed - and a ring of keys. It was time to break my colleagues out of their cages. And then there would be hell to pay.

Gruesome and violent, I know, but the pulp era was...well...pretty pulpy. After getting my buddies out of jail, we went on to kill a few more Nazis, then battled a giant, fang-shooting spider and some zombie Nazis. There was also a film cannister filled with teeth and a purple phosphoresent skull, but those are stories for another day...

The condo is looking better and better. Sylvia had the carpet cleaned, her friend is coming over to re-do our hideous "feature wall," and I got the wireless network working. Wow, I'm a computer geek now. w00t! Fear my l33t skillz!!!!1111!!!!one!!1one!!!!111

New Digs

We've moved in! Well, we moved in September 4th, but we've been unpacking since then, one box at a time. It's going slooooowly...and to make matters worse, I won't have home Internet access until September 27th. So if you've emailed or ICQed me, be patient - I'll reply when I'm back on the web.

The Bleak House of Boxes

Sanity...crumbling...still...packing...but...no...boxes...must...stuff...things...into...other...things...plastic...bags...unused...gifts...envelopes...

Haven't even - sob! - started cleaning...damage deposit...imperiled...

Must...summon...determination of Captain Kirk...will of Green Lantern...strength of Superman...je ne sais quois of that guy I see chewing on the mailbox every now and then...

Boxed In

My apartment has been reduced to an empty shell filled with cardboard boxes. In three days, Sylvia and I are moving into our new condominium, so I've been packing, packing, packing, stuffing my life into little brown cubes.

I've been watching episodes of Futurama while I pack, listening to the audio commentaries. Today, I found out that one of the show's story editors, Kristin Gore, is the daughter of former Vice President Al Gore. Kristin Gore revealed that her father is a huge fan of the show, and didn't need much arm-twisting at all to make several appearances, both before and after the American election debacle of 2000.

Listening to that commentary made me very sad. I've been reading Gore's post-2000 speeches, and they're remarkable - now that he's got nothing to lose, he's saying what he really thinks, and he sounds a lot like FDR or Tommy Douglas.

And perhaps most revealingly, he enjoys and understands Futurama, a smart, hip show that's not afraid to make jokes about math, quantum mechanics, and electrical engineering. On the commentary of one of the post-election Gore episodes, Kristin notes that her dad was grateful to the producers for providing the employment opportunity.

I have this vision of George W. Bush watching an episode of Futurama. He laughs whenever there's a puke joke (the writers are not above a little toilet humour), but most of the time he scratches his head and says "I don't get it."

I know who I'd rather have in charge of the nukes.

Pande-minium

W00T! Bought a condo! W00T!!!!11111!!!! :-O
 
Earl am teh roxxorzz!!!!!1111!!!!
 
It's in Terra Losa, a couple of blocks north of West Edmonton Mall. Two bedroom/two full baths plus den, insuite laundry, big balcony with a beautiful view of a manmade lake...it's pretty much ideal, and we got it for a great price. So come September, Sylvia and I will be moving in together.
 

Credit Where It's Due

WOO HOO! I paid off my line of credit today. No more debt for me! Yee hah!
 
Of course, I'm going to make an offer on a condo in a couple of hours...plunging me deeper into debt than I've ever been before...but at least the money is working for me now...right?
 
Right?
 
Hello?