The new face of Foster Road: There is now a "movement studio" whose name contains the root "Soma" (Sanskrit) followed by the suffix "-phile" (Greek). My work here as a foot soldier of gentrification is done!
I'm listening to the new T.S. Brooks album on a certain site whose name rhymes with "rye grace". As always, Sean's off to another place, never stopping in one place for too long. The presence of singers who are not Mr. Brooks is a little offputting, as is the radical reimagining of at least one song that dates back to the days when I played drums in dude's band, but I imagine once the shock wears off I'll deal with it. Or perhaps not? Of course it's good stuff. As always, it makes me want to record an album, but then everything does that these days.
Yesterday I went over to the new place for the home inspection. It's solid except for the gas leak in the crawlspace. I'm pursued by gas leaks (insert fart joke here).
The new neighborhood: so still. No sidewalks yet. A gun club within five blocks (NRA membership required). The voting precinct went for Kitzhaber, though just barely. Everything draped in that gray-green Oregon December feeling. Mysterious streets to explore. Eventual garage sales. I'll ride down every street within a few miles eventually come garage sale season.
Empty rooms. I'll fill them.