It's not exactly a pleasure to have rejoined the ranks of sorry individuals who are forced to drive their cars, sit in traffic and deal with the office parking lot to get into work everyday.
Old commute: less than a tenth of a mile, downhill on my bike.
New commute: less than four miles on two different highways in my car.
My first thought on my new route was the realization that this was not a good way to start the day off and I could potentially get into a sour mood before even stepping foot in the office. Morons driving too slow, jerks driving too fast, idiots turning and wasting my time, traffic signals. . . all of these things are a bit difficult for me to handle early in the morning.
Somehow I still think it's going to take less than 2 minutes to get to work and I get surprised each morning when 9 o'clock rolls around and I am still more than a mile away.
And when I finally do arrive at the parking lot, though I have many times walked across the whole thing on my way home, I get upset that I have to park in the back and walk all that way to get into the building.
What this new distance from work to home also means is that I have to figure out what the rest of the world does on their lunch break. Gone are the days of buzzing home in 5 minutes, putting on my pajamas and kicking back for a solid 45 minutes of TV vegetation time.
Honestly, I'm still far better off that those crazy people who work like 40 miles from where they live and have apparently have some strange desire to spend a good portion of their day on IH-35 (aka 'the parking lot') or Mo-Pac (aka Slo-Pac) with the rest of their commonsense challenged brethren.
What is wrong with those people? They must really love torture. Or suburbia.
9.02.2009
9.01.2009
bump in the pm
If it isn't drunk 20-somethings, a drag race or fire alarm we aren't used to hearing it at night. We get scared when something unidentifiable breaks the silence of the new house.
Up in our three-story concete fortress, life was lived in a hum of Congress traffic and there was almost never a moment of silence. We heard when our downstairs 'neighbors' watched action movies or played video games, sufferred squeeky tires in the parking garage and knew to brace for vocal, drunked debachery every weekend night when the bars closed - a car alarm at the very least.
Tucked into this quiet neighborhood the cats' pitterpatter echos off the bare walls and floors. And I sware, last night I heard a gaggle of coyote pups screaming in the backyard.
The new house is very dark and quiet which is nice, but spooky.
Up in our three-story concete fortress, life was lived in a hum of Congress traffic and there was almost never a moment of silence. We heard when our downstairs 'neighbors' watched action movies or played video games, sufferred squeeky tires in the parking garage and knew to brace for vocal, drunked debachery every weekend night when the bars closed - a car alarm at the very least.
Tucked into this quiet neighborhood the cats' pitterpatter echos off the bare walls and floors. And I sware, last night I heard a gaggle of coyote pups screaming in the backyard.
The new house is very dark and quiet which is nice, but spooky.
8.31.2009
trash party!
Valet trash is was not free at the Camden, nor was it optional. Trash was physically picked up from a container provided to you by the trash valet company which was a 40 something woman with a big bag, sturdy legs and a truck. She picked up 5 days a week.
Today was our first 'trash day' at the new house. I wouldn't have known except at once an inordinant number of people began heading out of their houses/garages, lugging trash cans towards the curb as if they'd all heard some suburbia trash bell signaling the commencement of the street trash ritual.
People were conversating with one another, investigating the contents of each other's trash and commenting on the capacity. If Neighbor A has too much trash and not enough room in their alotted bin, Neighbor A can apparently put their trash in Neighbor B's bin if it has more space. 'Oh look Manny, Sue has some room over here!'
On my street each house is allocated two cans from the city - one for trash, one for recycling. The recycling recepticle is larger than the one designated for regular 'trash' and they don't take brokendown lawnchairs. Oh and get this - they only come once a week! These are things that puzzle me here.
Today was our first 'trash day' at the new house. I wouldn't have known except at once an inordinant number of people began heading out of their houses/garages, lugging trash cans towards the curb as if they'd all heard some suburbia trash bell signaling the commencement of the street trash ritual.
People were conversating with one another, investigating the contents of each other's trash and commenting on the capacity. If Neighbor A has too much trash and not enough room in their alotted bin, Neighbor A can apparently put their trash in Neighbor B's bin if it has more space. 'Oh look Manny, Sue has some room over here!'
On my street each house is allocated two cans from the city - one for trash, one for recycling. The recycling recepticle is larger than the one designated for regular 'trash' and they don't take brokendown lawnchairs. Oh and get this - they only come once a week! These are things that puzzle me here.
8.30.2009
jah man
Sunday morning - first morning at the new house and I need my damn coffee, quick. I take off in the car in search of my nearest coffee shop.
My usual go-to joint would be Jo's on South Congress for 'a small coffee in a large cup with lots of room, please.', right out of the apartment complex and up the street. Ah, but there I was driving around Stassney and Manchaca to find my morning fix.
After a 5 mile tour of thrift stores, fast food joints, a meat market and a CVS I surrendered, whipped in to a convenience store that looked one step up from a gas station.
Inside, I was surprised to find Dale's Pale Ale six packs and other specialty beer favorites of mine. They had their own brew of coffee - yum - hot, ready to go and plenty of local snacks up for grabs. And the dudes running the place were jamming hardcore to a Rastfarian church service station over the PA.
Me: Is it Rastafarian church Sunday or what?! Ha.
Register dude (w/a straight face): Yes.
Me: Okie dokie.
As with my familiar downtown hood, there was nary a Christian in sight but rest assured Jah was looking down on the dudes at the Live Oak Market on Manchaca this morning. Great coffee too.
My usual go-to joint would be Jo's on South Congress for 'a small coffee in a large cup with lots of room, please.', right out of the apartment complex and up the street. Ah, but there I was driving around Stassney and Manchaca to find my morning fix.
After a 5 mile tour of thrift stores, fast food joints, a meat market and a CVS I surrendered, whipped in to a convenience store that looked one step up from a gas station.
Inside, I was surprised to find Dale's Pale Ale six packs and other specialty beer favorites of mine. They had their own brew of coffee - yum - hot, ready to go and plenty of local snacks up for grabs. And the dudes running the place were jamming hardcore to a Rastfarian church service station over the PA.
Me: Is it Rastafarian church Sunday or what?! Ha.
Register dude (w/a straight face): Yes.
Me: Okie dokie.
As with my familiar downtown hood, there was nary a Christian in sight but rest assured Jah was looking down on the dudes at the Live Oak Market on Manchaca this morning. Great coffee too.
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