Dispatch from the suburban shack
My Dad called this house a shack in jest, if I recall correctly - it's not exactly packing cases stapled together or anything. But I think he said there's only one layer of wall and no insulation between inside and outside, and the original electricity setup was *shudder* an amateur endeavor.
There was something else shoddy about it that he mentioned, I think... But now it's fairly cozy, wiring up to code, and who needs insulation when there are this many books and collectables lining the walls?
Heh. Well, collectable in the sense that he collected them. We, my two elder siblings and I, are trying to figure out what to do with it all. Who will want to buy what at a decent price? I'm pretty sure we're going to flood the market for 90 year old ohm meters. Ebay is often mentioned but that is verry labor intensive, listing each item in sufficient detail. Urgh. It'll be enough if we can get it into sufficient order to sell to dealers - we may not get the highest possible price, but the savings in effort seems adequate recompense, at this time.
My sister has suggested getting rid of the couch I currently occupy to create more book-sorting space. But this is where I sit ensconced, spending hours and days on the internet! Oh... well. Maybe it's a good idea. *sulks* Though I can see myself just settling in the chair instead, less comfortably but not particularly deterred from the webs.
Not that our efforts have gotten very far. I thought back this spring that I might be living elsewhere by now, some sublet in Brooklyn or the Bronx perhaps, trying out neighborhoods of the city to determine regions to consider buying an apartment in. I long for a commute of less than 80 minutes, that's for sure. Being able to stay out to any hour of the night and still get public transport home - that may well be revolutionary in my creative and recreational life. Though having those options seem to bring scary, scary realms of possibility - for performance, for design, for playwrighting maybe even - for failure. And trying to little avail is so much worse than not trying at all, it seems, in the depths of my gut, in my clenching ribcage and constricted breath.
There was something else shoddy about it that he mentioned, I think... But now it's fairly cozy, wiring up to code, and who needs insulation when there are this many books and collectables lining the walls?
Heh. Well, collectable in the sense that he collected them. We, my two elder siblings and I, are trying to figure out what to do with it all. Who will want to buy what at a decent price? I'm pretty sure we're going to flood the market for 90 year old ohm meters. Ebay is often mentioned but that is verry labor intensive, listing each item in sufficient detail. Urgh. It'll be enough if we can get it into sufficient order to sell to dealers - we may not get the highest possible price, but the savings in effort seems adequate recompense, at this time.
My sister has suggested getting rid of the couch I currently occupy to create more book-sorting space. But this is where I sit ensconced, spending hours and days on the internet! Oh... well. Maybe it's a good idea. *sulks* Though I can see myself just settling in the chair instead, less comfortably but not particularly deterred from the webs.
Not that our efforts have gotten very far. I thought back this spring that I might be living elsewhere by now, some sublet in Brooklyn or the Bronx perhaps, trying out neighborhoods of the city to determine regions to consider buying an apartment in. I long for a commute of less than 80 minutes, that's for sure. Being able to stay out to any hour of the night and still get public transport home - that may well be revolutionary in my creative and recreational life. Though having those options seem to bring scary, scary realms of possibility - for performance, for design, for playwrighting maybe even - for failure. And trying to little avail is so much worse than not trying at all, it seems, in the depths of my gut, in my clenching ribcage and constricted breath.