2.10.2004

Return to the desert

I've been thinking about registering my own domain, getting my own webspace, a virtual monument to my own vanity.

As noted by johnr, it is the Long, Dark Winter. I don't respond to it the way most other people do, though. Sure, I lose energy, and I'm not crazy about being cold. But I'm not affected by the cold as much as others are. I'll go outside in a sweater. I enjoy shoveling. I also like to keep myself mostly busy.

Winter is the time when I consume, the season when I hunker down with new music, go see movies, and read books. During the Hot, Bright Summer, I only want to twist up a joint or drink myself to the point of forgetting the heat. To use a video game analogy, winter is when I power-up.

The latest thing I want to do is write a weblog. Something about this free one doesn't really do it for me. Something in me says if I paid money for it, I'd put more work into it. Maybe that's the American in me talking. But I have a good idea for it: a diary of the trials and tribulations of a resident manager.

Really, it could be a good creative outlet for me. I'm creatively frustrated by my day job, and endlessly intrigued (and amused) by my night job. Tonight, a new tenant came to my door - my sister answered it. Now, my sister's not really used to the circumstances out here, and I could tell from the look on her face that we had a character at the door.

The dude was spaced out on some manner of narcotic (legal or not I cannot know), and wanted me to call his case worker. (His case worker was supposed to meet him out here, and predictably bailed)

These situations happen sometimes, and I'm usually of the frame of mind to tell folks I don't run a phone booth. But it's always a good idea to give the new folks a free pass - they'll remember the first time they had a problem, you helped them out. So I called the case worker and left a message. But now the tenant wants to know what message I left.

I said, "I told him you're here, you were supposed to meet him, and that you're waiting."

"What..." he said. His eyes drifted off.

"Yes," I said. "He's not here." And then looked meaningfully at the exit to the building. He came back later for a light bulb, and was disappointed to not get an incandescent one - I stock fluorescent energy saver bulbs. Already I have him pegged - the addicts use incandescent bulbs to smoke speed.

I assured him it would work the same as a "normal" light bulb, and sent him on his way. Tonight I'm going to go see a movie, and if I have to clean up his puke when I get back, I'm not going to be happy about it.