Packed Up and Ready to Roll
The movers have come and gone. We're holed up down the street at one of those Extended Stay places, a little shabbier than what we're used to, but livable. The key card works sometimes, but mostly it doesn't. I lost Peppy the cat the morning of our second day. I looked everywhere. Under the bed. On top of the cabinets. Behind the end table. Inside the drawers. Inside the refrigerator. The bathtub. Behind the curtains. Clearly, she’s not inside the room. I expanded the search perimeter. Down the halls. Inside the stairwells. Upstairs. Downstairs. Inside. Out.
I told Penny. I came home to supervise the movers while Penny continued to search for the cat. She found her hiding under the end table in a space that couldn't possibly hold a cat. But cats have their own physics, much as dogs have their own logic. Incomprehensible by mere humans.
I asked the woman at the front desk, “Who lives here?”
“People who are too lazy to look for a house or apartment to rent.”
I met one of them. He appeared out of nowhere. Asked about my backpack. He was a little too curious about whether I was carrying camera gear. I said “no.” We had a conversation outside my door. He's a social justice warrior, working to get No Labels on the ballot. Nice kid. Didn't seem lazy at all.
After endless back and forth with the front desk about the goddamn door, along with a fruitless visit from maintenance, I start hunting for alternative accommodations. We decide to gut it out, instead. It's livable.
I have a to-do list, normal stuff not related to the move. Work stuff. Comedy. This. I'm restless, but I can't get myself motivated beyond small tasks like taking a nap, designing a digital business card, going to two different stores to buy solid colored t-shirts, but leaving without buying any. My cameras and computers come with me everywhere. I trust no one to respect the goddamn door.
Three girls in town for a rave rode up the elevator with us last night. They graciously posed for some pics.
I'm restless and agitated. Even hate my rock n roll. Well, maybe not that.
Our new home is about a mile from the river. Five minutes from our moms. A world away from here. My team’s got LA covered for me. Everything's falling into place. Our new home is twice as big and half the cost. A no-brainer. Ten minutes from the nearest open mic. We’re not quite there yet, but soon. Ten more sleeps, more or less. A trip to the Leica Store. T-shirts, maybe. And oh yeah, The Ice House tomorrow night, open mic on Tuesday, and another performance next Saturday for the Lung Association. Scott Shimamoto got me that Lung gig. He warned me everyone else is seasoned comics, to bring my most polished material so I can meet the audience’s expectations. In other words, no pressure. Jesus.
Why Boise, you ask? A well-considered roll of the dice. As we say in these parts: Live Large. Be Bold. Have Faith. Fear Nothing.
