Southland

Home Sweet-Goddamn-Home. If I never see another cardboard box again I will be totally content. The next time I move (and there is bound to, and always will be a next time) I am hiring a team of mules and someone who knows what to do with a team of mules, and we are going to knock that move out in 30-45 minutes.















The scene of our last week in San Francisco. Everything was in boxes (bar the Devo energy dome which never really fit anywhere and almost ended up on my head while driving a rental truck down to LA). The weather got cold, and the house got colder the emptier it got. We sold the couch and TV within an hour of each other, and still had several days left. It got grim, sparse and weird.















Gone gone gone is San Francisco. Gone are the random acts of senseless violence. Gone are the street urchins and their patchouli funk who, in spite of their intense desire for it, can't muster, between themselves, the correct spelling of 'Marijuana'.























Gone are the passive aggressive neighbors who thump on walls, don't say hi to one another in the hallways, and who, recently and rather inexplicably have been leaving their pants outside their door. It must have been a hell of an entrance.






















And one last, final gorgeous sunset from the living room window to bid me farewell.















Our last night in town served as the first and last 'drink our booze and undo several days of cleaning' party in the old apartment. Remarkably (or not so knowing the general fortitude of my associate's livers) a full case of beer disappeared, followed closely by the remainder of many bottles of vodka, gin, tequila and I believe several things that were only fit for cooking or de-greasing a bike chain.

















9AM Friday morning we picked up a truck feeling battered and fried, and still a little shaky from the night before which, to my dismay spilled well into the morning as folks stopped by to wish us well. We assembled a pretty solid team to help us out. They were strong as oxen (carrying boxen) and aren't half bad looking either. Thanks.















The seven-hour drive down was a killer. The winds going over the Bay Bridge nearly sent me and damn near everything that I have ever owned into the bay. We pulled into LA around 8:30, exhausted and stinking, and were met by our LA pals who pried us with fizzy wine, and decided it would be a good idea for them to move most our furniture in under cover of darkness while we sat by and watched. After a brief flurry of boxes, bed frames and profanity we threw in the towel and went out for late night Mexican. Dan settled on a burrito, nothing special, but when it turned up it was easily the size of a horse's leg. Ally provided a side by side comparison here. That my friends, is a four blackberry burrito. The tin man is missing something of great value.






















Not for the faint of heart, but Dan fears neither man nor burrito (even one that is equal in size and density to his own arm). He did an admirable job of standing it on end, looking deep into it's eyes and devouring at least three pounds of it. Good show, old sport.






















The last week has been filled with rampant and hurried furniture shopping sprinkled with fits of unpacking. It has all been a bit exhausting, but it's starting to come together. Check out my TV. Whaaaaaat?