Reason Breeds Insanity

We go Monday afternoon to have the house inspected. In the mean time, it is being appraised and inspected for bugs. I am amazed at how much is involved in buying a house. Wow! I have nothing else to say really, but I may not write for a while because I have to get crackin’ on that research project. It will be finished by June 18.

The Front Stairway-not to be confused with the goat stairs in the back

The Dining Room with a Bay Window Seat for Me

The House from the McCullough- turn around and you’ll see the river and possibly me kayaking

The Kitchen, or Becky’s Domain

The Living Room with the wonderfully artifical gas log fireplace that was once a beautiful wood burning fireplace

(Mimi, the cat, helped with the title)

Our offer was accepted, so now all we have to do is wait for inspections, appraisals, the mortgage, and the closing. I hope all goes well, but so far it has been relatively painless (no rubber gloves or face masks). I am already planning the house warming: a keg of Guinness, a keg of Blue Moon Ale, red velvet cake from Concannon’s since it will be near my birthday, and possibly some QL’s since we will live right down the road. Oh, yeah. I love it. Two blocks to Concannon’s, five or six to the Heorot, and about half a mile to QL’s. What else could a fat kid ask for?

Becky is supposed to hear from Medical Consultants in Muncie about a job. They are supposed to call either today or tomorrow. Think happy thoughts for her. I am sure they will call tomorrow and tell her she has a job, but I am a little biased. I just want her to be happy in her work and confident in herself. And I know she wants to hurry up and finish her degree. Look for a party in Spring of 2009!

I am on my way to work again. Tonight is floor-set. I work from midnight to 2AM. When you go to SBUX in the morning, there will be entirely new, yet still unnecessary, commodities for your perusal. And hopefully you will purchase something so that I can keep working! By the way, there will be some new coffee. Check out the Black Apron. Mmmmmmm, good. And it’s not even Campbell’s soup!

My assistantship starts tomorrow, and I am working at the mission in the afternoon. I plan to have my entire Ph.D. application turned in by Friday. That way I can begin working bit by bit on this paper that I keep putting off! Augh! How I hate to write research papers! 😉 I love the research; it is the writing that will kill a person. All this and a new house.

I’ll keep you posted.

For those of you who don’t already know, Becky and I have been looking for a house to buy. We found one that we love, so we go tomorrow morning to meet with Tina, our realtor, to draw up a proposal, get appraisal information, get inspector information, and generally sign our lives away.
The house we love is at 106 E. McCullough in Muncie. It was built in 1908 and is right along the White River and the Cardinal Greenway (White River Cantilever section). We will be able to walk to the Heorot, which is so important, and I will be able to buy a kayak and a life jacket to go River kayaking (no rapids) which will make me very happy. There is a wrap around porch, so on my days off I will be able to drink my morning coffee and smoke a clove while sitting out looking at the River. All we will need to add is a fence around the back yard for all THREE dogs.
Yes, I said all THREE dogs. How can you resist a beautifully stray Australian Shepherd (his new name is Sydney), who just shows up at your house? He is getting groomed right now, and will be going to the vet tomorrow. And soon he will come back from the vet with two fewer of his closest friends!
Anyway, that is the update. That is where we are. I’ll keep you posted.

We are in Indianapolis waiting for my brother to run the mini-marathon. It starts at 7:30AM, but he had to be in line by 7AM. Of course, I took the opportunity to visit the local Starbucks. On my way, I stopped at another SBUX in our district to get a white mocha and had a horrible experience, but this stop at Conseco’s SBUX was great. I know the guy who is the shift here from somewhere. Probably from an SBUX party or something. Maybe the Oasis last summer. Anyway, it is 7:15, so I bet Adam is getting nervous. I hope he does well.

I bought this book called Basic Writings of Existentialism around this time last year. I just started reading it and realized that I never knew that Dostoevsky had a darkly funny side. If you ever get the chance read Notes from the Underground, I highly recomend it. How can you not love a piece of writing that begins: “I am a sick man…I am a spiteful man. No, I am not a pleasant man at all.” The sentiment is a bit Pauline, but I am not sure that Dostoevsky would think so. Maybe he would, though, because he also believed that suffering leads to moral purification. I am not sure whether I completely agree, but I do think it is a great thing to think about.

Interestingly, when we went to Washington, DC, my mom and I had a moment, as I assumed we might, in which I could no longer control my anti-military, slightly, okay overtly, anti-patriotic ranting. She said that she wished I had been raised more patriotically. I said, flippantly, that I was glad I hadn’t been because I like having a mind of my own. I realize after thinking about my response, that what I said wasn’t entirely what I meant. What I said, or how I perceive that it came across, is that because she is patriotic, she doesn’t have a mind of her own. What I meant, was I am glad that she raised me to think for myself. She and my father always encouraged me to think about things critically. I meant to say that I am glad that they instilled some rational thought within me, so that I could decide to be pacifist and not entirely patriotic, even though people around me are neither. I still respect those other people, but it is hard not agreeing with others around me. What I shouold have said was, I am glad that you raised me to think for myself, like you do.

Here is one of my favorite Ginsberg poems. I think it says somethng about the evolution of America. I memorized it for class last semester, so Becky had to hear it 97 times. She doesn’t like it as well as I do. I don’t blame her, she had it memorized well before I did.

A Supermarket in California by Allen Ginsberg

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocadoes, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of can following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detectives.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, posessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in houses, we’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage [as in Camden once]?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonly old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?