Nina is moving into Randy's former room. I am excited but, you know, apprehensive. Can I say that in a place where she can read it? She knows. It's a stressful thing, moving -- I was sure wound up about moving in here, and I was ditching a junked-up money-sink of a place when I did that. She's leaving what's basically the best one-bedroom in the city, a palace, really, that's also notable in that its rent was as low as it was for so long. This new place, my place, that she's moving into... not so much. It's smaller, a bit noisier (this evening the neighbors have been alternating Mexican polka with Michael Jackson's greatest hits... with stomping), and the amenities are less... amenable. Tiny bathroom, less light, more stairs. But, you know, it's got two bedrooms. She's painting hers a combination of gray and green. So far only the gray is up, but it's very soft and pretty -- I anticipate it will be even moreso on summer afternoons.
To make her stuff fit, she's getting a bunk bed (unfortunately putting her closer to upstairs footfalls) and we've both ditched a bunch of stuff. Evan and some of his roommates came by yesterday to scavenge her 350-lb. TV and the ol' vibrating / adjustable bed -- which turned out not to fit in Evan's friend Richard's minivan. They had to call around craigslist for last minute movers and managed to obtain the services of a guy who was a dead ringer for the keyboard player from Spinal Tap -- and whom Evan described, having spent a van ride with him back to Williamsburg, as being completely batshit.
But yeah, it's stressful, and not happening at the best time: Her dad is sick, we're both working a lot -- she's going to school, too; me, I keep attending these meetings where they lay out the schedule for the rest of the year, and it doesn't involve long trips to the bathroom, much less vacation or workdays that end before eight thirty. But I think living with someone usually ends up okay. People make concessions, consciously and unconsciously, and company is almost always a joy. Fingers crossed. (It better work out, because we merged our Netflix queues.)
A bit of terrible news, though: Direct From Hollywood Cemetery, the band that opened, serendipitously, for Ted Leo the night Eve hooked Nina and me up -- and which was later discovered to feature one of her co-workers at SEED -- might be no more. Or at least so indicates their MySpace. I know this sounds a bit phony, but I'm serious about these guys being my favorite local band. I hadn't really had the experience before DFHC of looking forward, entirely without misgivings -- to regularly going to a show by a small-time bunch of dudes. Don't get me wrong -- when I bought Dickies tickets in high school and it turned out that The Toilet Boys or The LES Stitches were opening, you know, that was cool, but it's not like those guys were really worth seeing on their own merits -- you'd buy their album and it'd have the couple of good, catchy songs on it that you liked, but then there'd be like a dozen really so-so songs that'd make you go, "Oh, right, you're not that smart."
Anyway, I can't really blame the 'Cemetery: Their stage show must've taken hours to rehearse / perfect, not to mention how much money it undoubtedly took to keep the equipment and costumes in working order. So when the turnout wasn't ever that good, there's a definite cost / benefit deficit. Pearls before swine and that. But both the keyboard guy and the drummer assured me they were working on an album, so I hope that's still in the works.
More awful news: My two big March "events" -- the FSF associate members meeting and the Pogues show at Roseland -- are both on the same day! And the FSF thing is in a whole 'nother state. I can't cancel or exchange the Pogues tickets, and I sure as heck can't reschedule the meeting, so it looks like I'm doing both? The trip to / from Boston takes a while (I think I'll take the train this time, since, as I discovered during an obligatory training visit to DataSynapse North recently, it leaves you feeling a whole lot more human than the bus), but I can leave the FSF thing a bit early, and the Pogues probably won't be on 'til 10:00 or so anyway. I don't know. Maybe this is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.
Tonight I cooked eggplant curry in the new pot my parents got me -- first eggplant dish ever, since I am only recently of the mind that eggplant is anything other than kind of icky. I still think it is kind of icky, actually. I need to find a better recipe. The pot works great, though. Great heat distribution, a causa de "metal," yet things didn't seem to stick. We'll see how it goes tomorrow when I have to clean it.
Emma posted a remarkably cogent review of a remarkably scatterbrained movie we watched a few weeks ago. Read it here.
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