I still am yet to do homework. (See previous post.)

I just was on Brian's blog, and it inspired me to note this. Go to Brian's blog first, then read mine:

Right now I'm sitting two doors down from Brian, looking at my bookshelf--and Tom's. And I see a hodge-podge of fantasy, Neal Stephenson, Gore Vidal, Norton anthologies, memoirs, "feminist" literature (whatever that means) on marriage, Egypt and Iran, cookbooks, New York guidebooks, novels from possibly every era, from Wuthering Heights to my recently signed Lost in the City. (Anyone who knows us will guess what books are mine and what books are Tom's.) To avoid the cliche, the thing I feel most tells about me through my books is the creases in the spine, the dog-eared pages, the coffee stain on the title page. They say I have been loved, hated, tossed into bags at the last minute, left behind in restaurants--and later been lovingly recovered--found on the street or in backalley bookstores or brightly lit B&Ns and bundled into a load and carried to a school far away. Sometimes I am pulled to the front, sometimes I am heartlessly pushed to the back. It tells nothing and yet everything about my experiences.

Before I get too smary lovey dovey, I'll stop there.

I just returned from my first reflexology massage.

It was amazing. My feet are glistening with lotions and oils, my toes are pink like a baby's, and I felt little zaps of energy in my arms and head. Even without the zaps, it was a great foot massage.

If you get a chance, take it!

Now I'll try to do some homework...I've done nothing all day.

I'll admit it, snob that I am. I will admit that I am deep into one of those fantasy novels: The Mists of Avalon. Very very very good. If you want brain candy that's good for you, read this book.

For good or for ill, I have finished our 2004 taxes. Now, we wait. We wait for the mythical money that will promptly disappear into not-so-mythical medical bills, rent, cell phone, credit cards and food. At least we're so poor we don't have to pay anything. I think.

After all my wonderment at friends buying houses and other such grownup nonsense, Tom and I may join their ranks. We are considering going in with some friends here in NYC to buy a place in Brooklyn. The house we're looking at right now is in Bushwick. It's a brown three story affair, currently being renovated. Three large apartments, three bedrooms each. 1,000 square feet for each apartment. Which in the city is a crazy bunch of space. I won't say for how much. But it's an amazing price for New York. So, what we're thinking is that Mel and Dan would have one apartment, Tom and I the second, and we'd rent out the third.

There are some troubles with it. It's near a train station that has elevated tracks, for one. So noise would be an issue One side of the house seems a little bad structurally. And the roof sags a bit. I saw it for the first time today; Dan's seen it a couple times. He felt pretty good about it. And he built a strawbale house in WV. Which some of you may snicker at. We had come to look inside it, but the construction crew nailed the doors shut, so the real estate guy couldn't let us in. Tom and I are going to try and see it, the inside, this weekend.

A few major pluses are the fact that Bushwick is fairly close to Manhattan, paying for a place instead of throwing money in rent would be good, and, if we decided to move we could simply rent the place out, and we'd always be able to come back.

The neighborhoods nothing like the one we live in now. Much more working class. KFCs and Dunkin Donuts around, stuff like that. No Starbucks to be seen. But there were lots of kids running around, and that was a good sign. A safe neighborhood.

So. We'll see what happens.

I did my first interview for my oral history project with a guy named Donald. It was really good. Although the interview was only and hour and a half, we talked before and after about the subject. Strange to say, but somehow the experience made me feel like a real New Yorker. He lives in the East Village, and as I walked over there and came in to his tiny apartment (I mean tiny--for anyone who remembers Sarah and my apartment in Harrisonburg, think about half the size and you get the idea.), pet his cat and sat down, and we talked a while about New York things, I don't know. I felt more at home in this nutso place than ever.

Good grief. I sound so like every other Midwest transplant more than likely.

What was so encouraging about this afternoon was our conversation surrounding church life. He's a very spiritual person, but because he is who he is not to mention the fact that he's queer (he prefers that to gay--feels gay is so much more mainstream, clean cut and "acceptable") he's been disgusted with Christianity and rarely goes to church. He is sort of involved in Buddhism. But we talked a bunch about different churches in the city that have a more progressive outlook, everyone to the crazy Mennos and Quakers to the Baptists (gasp) and Presbyterians--and how they seem keyed in to Christ's message. Though they still have further to go. I'm sure some would think our conversation blasphemy, but it made good darn sense to me.

Right now I am waiting for my extra extra slow printer to print a 29 page document. I need a new printer. Maybe if the printer gods hear me...

Today Lowell and I picked up Carol from Pax Christi, where I once worked as a volunteer and now she is there, and we went to this place for lunch called the Peanut Butter Co., which basically sells different kinds of peanut butter sandwiches: pb and j, pb and nuttella, etc. It's nice and hipster and a bit expensive.