June, 2006

I finally sold my Triumph. I drove up to meet the buyer with a number in my head that would get me closer to a new motorcycle, and the buyer had an envelope ready with that exact amount in freshly pressed hundreds. I enjoyed taking that to the bank.

So goodbye to this fine bike:

And hello to something looking a little more like this:

Maybe even by tomorrow night.

Also, Victoria Cleaners on Grand Avenue called while I was out selling the bike. Apparently, the red shirt that I thought they lost has just been sitting there waiting for me to pick it up. Time to buy a lottery ticket.

Normally, I’m not the biggest Springsteen fan. I figure he hasn’t really rocked since ‘92, and everything before that is just getting old. A free ticket is a free ticket, though, and when my friend Joe called me Saturday night to tell me three people had backed out on him so far, I thought I should probably just go. It was a tour with the Seeger Sessions band, anyway, so even with Bruce Springsteen on stage, I figured he wouldn’t just be “The Boss.” (This, by the way, seemed to upset a rather disagreeable fellow in a Harley shirt who was standing behind Joe and me yelling, “Seventies, Bruce! That’s what made you!”) My hunch was confirmed immediately by the band taking the stage to the sounds of “Down to the River to Pray” from the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. With the set list leaning heavily toward the Seeger songs, the music was at times spiritual, inspirational, and just good. I was pleasantly surprised to enjoy myself.

Actually, my masochistic indie soul is just seething inside that I didn’t get an opportunity to complain about suffering through another washed-up rocker old enough to be my dad. Shucks.

Also, my apartment is so clean right now. It is weird. The party never really got to crazy levels, so there wasn’t much to clean up except the snacks on the dining room table. There is still some leftover booze in the little fridge, so I almost feel like throwing another party already, and this time really inviting people. W00t. Thanks to everyone who came. It was cool to see some people from Ames again, and my friend, Amy, from Chicago was even there. Next time, I’ll give you all a little more notice. Like 8 days instead of just a week.

This afternoon, around 3 o’clock, my sister told me the fuses were blown in our bathroom. I called the landlord and went back to doing whatever it was I was doing at work. Around six, I showed my motorcycle to an interested buyer, so it was about six-thirty when I walked in the back door. I heard noises, and sure enough, my landlord, handyman in tow, was still trying to get my power on. Somehow, they couldn’t figure out which fuses went to the bathroom/kitchen/my bedroom (yes, that is a lot of area to cover on one circuit.) They replaced every fuse in the box that they thought belonged to me, then replaced one that they thought didn’t. Of course, that was the one. We went around flipping lights on and off, turning on fans, and generally being happy that things were working again. They left, and I went to get some water from the fridge.

The fridge is off. Not only that, but the stove next to it won’t light. The crazy thing is that they are on regular 120 outlets. The one that the fridge and stove use and one nearby are not working. Three rooms are covered by one circuit, and these two get one to themselves. Plus, the fuses all look fine and I can’t figure out which one is causing the problem. Ugh. I only hope the fridge is working by Friday, or we are all drinking warm beer.

UPDATE: Megan says the power is back on. Rock.