Monday, March 1, 2010

Moving is hell. I haven't changed my clothes or washed my hair in six days. I'm seconds away from being Benizio del Toro.

This old Italian guy who lives a few doors away dropped by to say goodbye. I've always wondered about him: very religious and old-fashioned, yet whenever we talk he touches me constantly, and points at a lot of stuff in the distance that require his hand moving suspiciously close to my groin. He says he says it's an old Italian tradition that when you move to a new place you bring bread and salt. It's symbolic, he says.

He didn't explain what they stood for, but judging from the Italians I know it's easy enough to figure out. Bread stands for the nourishment you need to live, and salt represents sucking the life juice out of everybody you meet.

I moved to a much nicer place, and stupidly thought the increased rent would be the only expense. Wrong! Now everybody who comes by says I need new furniture. Evidently exposed brick walls and beams don't go with cement block bookshelves. Is that ridiculous? If I'd known, honestly, I'd have found an uglier place. I can imagine how Louis XIV felt after he built Versailles.

LOUIS XIV: So, babe, here it is! My wedding surprise for you.

CATHERINE THE GREAT: Christ, Louis, what the hell did you do? All the gold, and mirrors, and frescos. Now all our furniture is going to look like shit.

LOUIS XIV: Hey look, babe, I spent eighty million dollars on this thing, just to impress you. The building was designed by an Italian count, the frescos are by the finest painters in France, and the mosaics are hand-set by the most skilled artisans in the world.

CATHERINE THE GREAT: Okay, it's beautiful, it's beautiful. (PAUSE) Now give me the fuckin' Sears card.

I don't have internet access yet, so I'm at a pay computer at the laundromat across the street. It's weird: just a few days ago, I thought this place was really sad and hopelessly depressing, full of people who had no ambition, no hope, and no talent, but now I'm finding it's not -- whoops, gotta go. Lupe says "El Amor de las Carreras" is on.


Yet Another Steve said...

What could be more appropriate for exposed-brick walls than cement-block bookshelves? Hell, you oughta have, and proudly at that, a cement-block bed frame too.

When people visit your new digs, it's their job to admire the layout, view, neighborhood and so on. If they're so rude as to denigrate your furniture, you should (1) immediately poke out their eyes, to spare them any further sight of it, and (2) erase their names from your address book, because such people are too toxic to have around anyway.

David said...

I've never lived anywhere nice so I can't really contribute to this discussion.