Life in the Pioneer Valley, part 1
Life here in the Pioneer Valley, which encompasses the towns of Amherst and Northampton (among others) has finally settled down into something resembling a routine. I finally have a bit of time (and a stable internet connection), to do some side writing. Thus I now intend to do something long overdue: write of my first few weeks here in Massachusetts (forever further referred to in this blog as Mass, an abbreviation that I find ugly but useful - Cali just sounds so much better). Enough parentheses.
I find it hard to believe that I've now spent three weeks here. It feels much longer. I suppose I'm used to this compression of time from travelling, yet it still feels eerie and unnatural. Anyways, I just have to say that the whole process of relocating here has been a complete and total pain in the ass. I suppose I brought it on myself, in part, by moving from my first residence (in the dorms on the UMass campus) to this townhouse here in Northampton. By doing so I managed to anger the Fedex, UPS, and UMass gods and for my deeds they rained frustration and misery upon me. But I swear it was worth it: life in the dorm was simply unbearable. Let me give you some imagery to illuminate my prior situation: cinderblock, whitewashed walls; long, dimly lit corridors devoid of life; cold linoleum floors and a single, dim overhead florescent light; water pipes running along the edges of the ceiling. Along with this super depressing scenario were the hundreds of freshly arrived 18 year old freshmen who lived in two 22 story dormitory towers situated right outside my window. In UMass' infinite wisdom, they decided to put the graduate student dorm right next to 44 stories of noise and immaturity. Can you hear the pumping basslines at 1 am? I could. Furthermore, living in the dorm created a sense within me that I too was 18 again, not really sure if I was an adult or simply a big child.
I simply didn't move 2000 miles away from home to go back 6 years in time. I wanted my own place to craft in my image. I wanted a freaking kitchen. Now before I further mislead you, the impetus behind my move was generated entirely my roommate. Not only was my dorm and dorm room depressing as all hell, but I had to share this insiduously creeping darkness with somebody else. I had a roommate, named Sam. Sam was of the same opinion as I about our situation, only he was determined to do something about it. I wasn't exactly content to ride out the situation for the semester, however there is a nasty $350 fee for cancelling your stay, and this acted as a potent deterrent against action. Sam, however, wasn't going to let $350 get in the way of his housing revolution, and went apartment hunting. He returned one evening, more specifically our third evening there in the friendly confines of Prince Hall, with excitement in his eyes - he found a townhouse. With two rooms for rent. I hadn't even seen the place but I knew I was in.
I'm a big fan of residences that have character. This townhouse doesn't just have character in spades, but in clubs, diamonds and hearts too. It features a baby blue paint-job with pink accents. The entire floor of my bedroom vibrates like a minor earthquake when big trucks pass by. I'm on the third floor so this is a bit worrisome. My hardwood floors appear to have been installed by a drunkard on a Schlitz bender, and also feature a silver dollar sized hole in one of the boards that when probed by a pencil doesn't seem to have a bottom. There's not a single section of floor that doesn't slope. To illustrate the Gaudi of my living situation, upon waking every morning I discover that my bed has migrated one to two feet from its original position against the wall. I now have my bed lodged in place by my two-year old Walmart flip flops that have been up close and cozy with the dirt of three continents and now two wheels of my bedframe. In short, I love it here. I do worry about the fraility of the place though when winter comes - the heating bill will likely be pretty unfriendly.
I'd love to write more, and believe me there's a lot more to write, but this nasty thing called "section" requires my planning and thus I have to get to work.
