Before my TV and DVD player are unplugged on Thursday and hauled away by the movers who will meet us at our new home early Friday afternoon to move everything in, I was planning to watch Lucky You (mostly crappy script, but one of the great movies about Las Vegas because it gets the actual feel of the city right and not how Hollywood usually sees it), Swing Vote (for the election season), and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (symbolic of a new adventure in my life) again. I watched some of Lucky You before the week started, but I can easily watch Swing Vote and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy after we're settled in our new home and everything's hooked up again, including cable service with CenturyLink, which offers the ability to watch recorded shows on any TV in the house. That's going to be a godsend.
Anyway, instead of those movies, I watched most of 10 Items or Less, starring Morgan Freeman and Paz Vega, early this morning, to remind myself that I have to get used to finding good people all the time in Las Vegas, which is hard to imagine at first after nine years in Santa Clarita. Most of them in Las Vegas anyway, but the majority leans toward goodness, because living in Las Vegas, you're in the desert and you have to make your life work. People are more real there.
While I watched Him (Freeman) walk into Archie's Ranch Market in Carson to do research for a role as a supermarket manager that he hasn't committed to yet, I saw the pay phone that he uses to call someone to pick him up after the production assistant (Jonah Hill) for the movie doesn't come back after dropping him off an hour before, and my mind wandered to the news the day before that we got our new phone number. I've memorized it, just like I have our new address after changing many magazine subscription addresses.
After revealing our new phone number, Dad said that it had been out of service for three years, and I perked up at that piece of news. Once in Las Vegas, I want to know absolutely everything about my home city. I want to explore every inch of it, along with Henderson, Boulder City, Summerlin, and North Las Vegas, as well as the rest of Nevada. I don't necessarily want to become one of the foremost authorities on Las Vegas and Nevada; I just want to know enough for myself, that wherever I go, when I drive by various casinos, I know their histories, that when I walk through downtown Henderson and downtown Boulder City, I know how long those buildings have been there and what the lobby of the Boulder Dam Hotel in Boulder City looked like decades before, also knowing that Clark Gable and Carole Lombard once stayed there.
I wish I could know the same about our new phone number. Three years out of service before it was given to us. Who had it? Was it a business? Was it a resident? Was it a transient resident who had had enough of the city and moved east or back to California or maybe Arizona or New Mexico? Was it a resident who died of old age or died in middle age and their family took care of the arrangements to release the phone number? Or did the number just float briefly from place to place during those three years before settling down on us? I like to imagine that it was a resident who eventually tired of the city, who left room for us. Something like that. I know that I won't ever know the history of our new phone number, but the speculation to come out of it, those potential stories, are endlessly interesting.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Genetic Nose Hair
When you're preparing to move, and you're deciding what to throw out and what to pack, you discover a lot. You discover books you forgot you even had, magazine issues that you didn't read, but want to keep so you can later on (such as The New Yorker's Science Fiction issue from a few months ago, and their Food issue from last year), and DVDs to put with other DVDs in a huge binder in order to watch later, but not necessarily to keep (such as Blackthorn, starring Sam Shepard, one of my heroes).
It's preparation for a new life, new experiences, new discoveries. Surprising new discoveries.
Late last week, I noticed a nose hair hanging further down than usual from my nose. I could tuck it back in a bit so it wouldn't be so bothersome, but at the first opportunity, it always sprang back out. I had to do something about it. I had to cut it.
I went into my parents' bathroom during the night, into Monday, and got the scissors that are kept for such a task. I expected to only eventually aim the scissors correctly enough while looking in the mirror in order to clip the sucker. I had to sit down after I clipped the lone nose hair and looked up my nose. I was stunned by what I found.
I know that I'm going to get older. Everyone does. I know that my body will gradually change with every year. It happens to everyone. I didn't expect to find so soon the sheer breadth of nose hair I have in each nostril.
When my late paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, used to visit, I'd always sit in the middle of the front of their car, with Dad next to me on the right, my grandfather driving on the left, and Mom, Meridith, and my grandmother in the back. While my grandfather weaved through traffic like a madman, defied the logic of wearing a seatbelt (he absolutely refused to wear one and we never said anything about it, because that's who he was), and told jokes, most of which were racist, I looked at him and noticed his nose hairs, how they seemed to be reaching out beyond his nose. Not that they were disorganized, since he seemed to clip them when necessary, but it looked like they were planning to invade at the first possible moment that no one, or me, was looking. I was younger, so I didn't think much about it beyond being amazed at how one nose could have so much nose hair.
Now here I am, 28 years old, and I have what my grandfather had, what my father has too. It's the least to worry about in a family line that's pretty much uneventful. All my ancestors died of old age, ranging from the 80s to the 90s. I'd like to go beyond that.
So I have to clip my nose hairs more often. That's fine. I'll do it. For now, though, I'm still surprised at seeing this change right now. Whatever happens in my body in the years to come, I'm not so concerned because I know my genetic line has always been stable. No family members with cancer in the past. Nothing that threatens one's health early on. Only an impending invasion of nose hairs on the world. But the battle is always easily won.
It's preparation for a new life, new experiences, new discoveries. Surprising new discoveries.
Late last week, I noticed a nose hair hanging further down than usual from my nose. I could tuck it back in a bit so it wouldn't be so bothersome, but at the first opportunity, it always sprang back out. I had to do something about it. I had to cut it.
I went into my parents' bathroom during the night, into Monday, and got the scissors that are kept for such a task. I expected to only eventually aim the scissors correctly enough while looking in the mirror in order to clip the sucker. I had to sit down after I clipped the lone nose hair and looked up my nose. I was stunned by what I found.
I know that I'm going to get older. Everyone does. I know that my body will gradually change with every year. It happens to everyone. I didn't expect to find so soon the sheer breadth of nose hair I have in each nostril.
When my late paternal grandfather, and my paternal grandmother, used to visit, I'd always sit in the middle of the front of their car, with Dad next to me on the right, my grandfather driving on the left, and Mom, Meridith, and my grandmother in the back. While my grandfather weaved through traffic like a madman, defied the logic of wearing a seatbelt (he absolutely refused to wear one and we never said anything about it, because that's who he was), and told jokes, most of which were racist, I looked at him and noticed his nose hairs, how they seemed to be reaching out beyond his nose. Not that they were disorganized, since he seemed to clip them when necessary, but it looked like they were planning to invade at the first possible moment that no one, or me, was looking. I was younger, so I didn't think much about it beyond being amazed at how one nose could have so much nose hair.
Now here I am, 28 years old, and I have what my grandfather had, what my father has too. It's the least to worry about in a family line that's pretty much uneventful. All my ancestors died of old age, ranging from the 80s to the 90s. I'd like to go beyond that.
So I have to clip my nose hairs more often. That's fine. I'll do it. For now, though, I'm still surprised at seeing this change right now. Whatever happens in my body in the years to come, I'm not so concerned because I know my genetic line has always been stable. No family members with cancer in the past. Nothing that threatens one's health early on. Only an impending invasion of nose hairs on the world. But the battle is always easily won.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Things are Rapidly Changing for the Better
Mom and Dad and Meridith went out to Enterprise in Mission Hills first to try to get our PT Cruiser off our hands, in the hope that they would give us a rental for our move to Las Vegas and then in Las Vegas, we'd go back to an Enterprise there and seek a new car. No dice. The one who made the deal for us at Enterprise is no longer there (he began attending law school) and the one in the Mission Hills office who could have helped wasn't there. So they went to CarMax in Burbank, and they were no help either, not offering enough to end our payments on the PT Cruiser.
Meanwhile, back in Santa Clarita, I was home because I want to finish all the issues of The Henderson Press before we move. Right now, I'm on Volume 3, No. 27, with nine more issues to go to get to Volume 3, No. 36, the most recent issue. This is how I'm spending the rest of my afternoon. But on Saturday, I was on Volume 3, No. 20. Good progress.
We had three showings on Saturday, with the latter two latter in the day, and I was here for both. The third showing, which had a family with a teenaged daughter, was the best one. They're the ones who made an offer today that could very well go through because all the paperwork is in hand, and everything that needed to be done before the offer was made is done. They have the necessary cash to start. We're not going to make much of anything on this deal, but it's about time this house goes to people who could really enjoy it. We never did. I know this family will.
On top of that, we have our new phone number, which I've already memorized (I memorized the address yesterday when I was changing magazine subscription addresses, including The New Yorker and Saveur, and our gate code, since our mobile home park is gated.
Unfortunately, since we'll likely be driving to Las Vegas in our PT Cruiser, which we have to pray for when we drive long distances, we're going to skip Primm, since it's more important to get to our new home. We can always go back anyway, and I'd prefer to do it in whatever new car we eventually get.
However, the upside is that we'll be celebrating Rosh Hashanah at Greenberg & Sons, a Jewish deli at New York-New York. At the same time we're there, Meridith wants to go to the Coney Island Emporium to see the cotton candy vending machine that was installed there, and if Mom and Dad don't mind hanging around New York-New York a little longer (that is, if they don't want to go with us), Meridith and I want to pop across the street to M&M World to see I Lost My M in Vegas, the 3D short film that plays on the 3rd floor every half hour. I'm looking forward to it because David Ruprecht, the host of Supermarket Sweep, voiced the dealer. It's also interesting to know that J.K. Simmons is in Las Vegas every day, because besides the commercials, he also voiced the Yellow M&M for this short film.
Also, today was Dad's last day at La Mesa Junior High. A student that he had seven years ago found out that he's leaving and drove all the way from wherever he's living now during lunchtime to see him. I'm still amazed.
Yesterday, I spent most of the afternoon checking if certain books I have are also available in the Clark County Library system. Most of them are, so I put them in paper bags for donations, and for now, I'm keeping the ones that aren't, such as Vending Machines: A Social History by Kerry Segrave. Not only does the Clark County system not have it, but I paid nearly 30 dollars for my copy and I'm not giving it up so quickly, especially since I haven't read it yet.
It's all starting to move swiftly, and there's still lots to throw out and lots to pack, but the reward at the end is everything I've ever wanted. There's nothing better than that.
Meanwhile, back in Santa Clarita, I was home because I want to finish all the issues of The Henderson Press before we move. Right now, I'm on Volume 3, No. 27, with nine more issues to go to get to Volume 3, No. 36, the most recent issue. This is how I'm spending the rest of my afternoon. But on Saturday, I was on Volume 3, No. 20. Good progress.
We had three showings on Saturday, with the latter two latter in the day, and I was here for both. The third showing, which had a family with a teenaged daughter, was the best one. They're the ones who made an offer today that could very well go through because all the paperwork is in hand, and everything that needed to be done before the offer was made is done. They have the necessary cash to start. We're not going to make much of anything on this deal, but it's about time this house goes to people who could really enjoy it. We never did. I know this family will.
On top of that, we have our new phone number, which I've already memorized (I memorized the address yesterday when I was changing magazine subscription addresses, including The New Yorker and Saveur, and our gate code, since our mobile home park is gated.
Unfortunately, since we'll likely be driving to Las Vegas in our PT Cruiser, which we have to pray for when we drive long distances, we're going to skip Primm, since it's more important to get to our new home. We can always go back anyway, and I'd prefer to do it in whatever new car we eventually get.
However, the upside is that we'll be celebrating Rosh Hashanah at Greenberg & Sons, a Jewish deli at New York-New York. At the same time we're there, Meridith wants to go to the Coney Island Emporium to see the cotton candy vending machine that was installed there, and if Mom and Dad don't mind hanging around New York-New York a little longer (that is, if they don't want to go with us), Meridith and I want to pop across the street to M&M World to see I Lost My M in Vegas, the 3D short film that plays on the 3rd floor every half hour. I'm looking forward to it because David Ruprecht, the host of Supermarket Sweep, voiced the dealer. It's also interesting to know that J.K. Simmons is in Las Vegas every day, because besides the commercials, he also voiced the Yellow M&M for this short film.
Also, today was Dad's last day at La Mesa Junior High. A student that he had seven years ago found out that he's leaving and drove all the way from wherever he's living now during lunchtime to see him. I'm still amazed.
Yesterday, I spent most of the afternoon checking if certain books I have are also available in the Clark County Library system. Most of them are, so I put them in paper bags for donations, and for now, I'm keeping the ones that aren't, such as Vending Machines: A Social History by Kerry Segrave. Not only does the Clark County system not have it, but I paid nearly 30 dollars for my copy and I'm not giving it up so quickly, especially since I haven't read it yet.
It's all starting to move swiftly, and there's still lots to throw out and lots to pack, but the reward at the end is everything I've ever wanted. There's nothing better than that.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
We'll Be Home...
Friday, September 14th, any time after 7 a.m. Our new home, eight miles from the Strip, will be ready then. The Tuesday after, Dad has to sign further papers at the Clark County School District offices and he starts at his new middle school the following day.
This is our final weekend in Santa Clarita! Final moments to breathe before diving into the gargantuan task of moving, but it's easier this time, above all other times because first, we're going home, and second, it only takes four hours from here to Las Vegas as opposed to five days from South Florida to Southern California nine years ago. Same grouping as nine years ago: Us, our two dogs, and our two birds, with a moving company based in Las Vegas going ahead of us. Only one of the dogs and both birds have changed since then. Different dog, different birds. But all family, and all ready to live life as we should live it. Not an existence, as it has been. A life. A life we can love, can appreciate, can be happy all the time. I'm ready to get to know my home city intimately, and I'd like it to be where I am for the rest of my life.
This is our final weekend in Santa Clarita! Final moments to breathe before diving into the gargantuan task of moving, but it's easier this time, above all other times because first, we're going home, and second, it only takes four hours from here to Las Vegas as opposed to five days from South Florida to Southern California nine years ago. Same grouping as nine years ago: Us, our two dogs, and our two birds, with a moving company based in Las Vegas going ahead of us. Only one of the dogs and both birds have changed since then. Different dog, different birds. But all family, and all ready to live life as we should live it. Not an existence, as it has been. A life. A life we can love, can appreciate, can be happy all the time. I'm ready to get to know my home city intimately, and I'd like it to be where I am for the rest of my life.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Finally, The Henderson Press Gets It
Now that we're moving in September, I'm working to finish reading all the issues of The Henderson Press up to the latest one. I'm on Volume 3, No. 11, and I've got 23 more in order to get to Volume 3, No. 34. I'm sure it's a combination of editor Carla J. Zvosec and reporter Guy Dawson that shows that The Henderson Press finally gets it: In profiles of businesses, you can't just skim the surface and report on what a business offers. You have to dig deep into a story, get the origins of the business, what inspired it, what the businesspeople set out to do, and how it's grown and changed. That's what reporters did in Zvosec's early days.
In this issue, dated March 15-March 21, 2012, there's an article on page 7 about the local Skyline Casino. At the beginning, reporter Dawson writes that the Skyline is undergoing renovations, takes in a quote by Mike Young, the general manager, goes into the remodeling details, and then delves into its history, who owned it first and who owns it now. The current owner, Jim Marsh, owns antique slot machines and has them on display throughout the casino. I've read a few of Dawson's articles in previous issues and I've found that he has an instinct for interesting details, no matter if he's writing about the Skyline Casino or a family taxidermy business that he reported on in the previous issue. Editor Zvosec is smart in letting Dawson pick out those pieces of Henderson not often thought about by the public at large. The Henderson Press was a zig-zag publication in its early days, unsure of what it wanted to be, and going through many different reporters and editorial oversight at the time, but now, with reporters like Dawson, and Buford Davis, who makes City Council issues even more interesting than they were before in this newspaper, it has matured into a strong community force that looks to make sure its citizens are well-informed about what's going on around them, no matter that it comes out once a week. But where the Las Vegas Review-Journal is published every day and has to cover the news very quickly, The Henderson Press gets time to digest the news that affects the city and report on it in a calm, even-handed manner. I have to get settled in Las Vegas first, but once my life's back in a straight line, I would have no problem going into Henderson every week to get a copy of The Henderson Press somewhere. I like what it has become, and plan to support it for as long as Zvosec and her reporters keep it going as it is.
In this issue, dated March 15-March 21, 2012, there's an article on page 7 about the local Skyline Casino. At the beginning, reporter Dawson writes that the Skyline is undergoing renovations, takes in a quote by Mike Young, the general manager, goes into the remodeling details, and then delves into its history, who owned it first and who owns it now. The current owner, Jim Marsh, owns antique slot machines and has them on display throughout the casino. I've read a few of Dawson's articles in previous issues and I've found that he has an instinct for interesting details, no matter if he's writing about the Skyline Casino or a family taxidermy business that he reported on in the previous issue. Editor Zvosec is smart in letting Dawson pick out those pieces of Henderson not often thought about by the public at large. The Henderson Press was a zig-zag publication in its early days, unsure of what it wanted to be, and going through many different reporters and editorial oversight at the time, but now, with reporters like Dawson, and Buford Davis, who makes City Council issues even more interesting than they were before in this newspaper, it has matured into a strong community force that looks to make sure its citizens are well-informed about what's going on around them, no matter that it comes out once a week. But where the Las Vegas Review-Journal is published every day and has to cover the news very quickly, The Henderson Press gets time to digest the news that affects the city and report on it in a calm, even-handed manner. I have to get settled in Las Vegas first, but once my life's back in a straight line, I would have no problem going into Henderson every week to get a copy of The Henderson Press somewhere. I like what it has become, and plan to support it for as long as Zvosec and her reporters keep it going as it is.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Going Home!
Just a quick post to reveal why I've been away for so long:
The house is up for sale. We've had 14 showings this past week alone and offers are forthcoming, which may trigger a bidding war, according to our realtor. We had to bring in two cleaning women (mother and daughter) to scour the house, and they did an incredible job. It looks better than when we moved in eight years ago, and still does after all these showings because we make sure that it's always presentable. It also helps that Meridith and I sit in the patio with our two dogs so the potential buyers can walk through unimpeded. If they were in their kennels in the house, their barking would have been bothersome to the sellers, I'm sure, and we wouldn't be facing three offers so far. That may go higher.
I can't give any official word just yet, but things are moving swiftly enough that we will be residents of Las Vegas at the second week of September. That's real, confirmed, solid, set. We're going home!
I'm working on my book projects slower than before in order to prepare to move. But once in Las Vegas, full speed ahead, including my book about the making of the Airport movies. I found out that Airport is being released by Universal on Blu-ray next week as part of its 100th Anniversary. The extras contain only the theatrical trailer. Nothing about the history of it or how it single-handedly pulled Universal out of bankruptcy. It means there's an opening for my co-author and I and we have all the resources for it. I know that in Las Vegas, I'm going to accomplish a lot more than I have, especially armed with a library card that means so much because it's home to me.
Plus, time to shop for a car after we get settled. I need one and Meridith needs one. You can't get around Las Vegas much without one. If I can find a decent used Toyota Corolla, I'll be overjoyed. That's what I want.
That's all for now. After nine years of struggle in Santa Clarita, we're finally moving to where we belong, to where the word "home" means home and not just to say, "I'm tired of these errands. Let's go home," just to reference where our beds are, as it is here. I can't wait to get to the Whitney Library to ransack their Nevada history section and to put on hold what the other branches have, to have the job I've wanted for a long time, to have a Nevada driver's license, to explore every inch of the Las Vegas Valley and eventually the state. I no longer bear any animosity toward Santa Clarita and Southern California. I felt like a tourist in the Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive some time ago, and that was a start. Now I feel nothing toward Santa Clarita. I'm ready to move and forget about all of it, filling my soul with the new life that awaits me.
The house is up for sale. We've had 14 showings this past week alone and offers are forthcoming, which may trigger a bidding war, according to our realtor. We had to bring in two cleaning women (mother and daughter) to scour the house, and they did an incredible job. It looks better than when we moved in eight years ago, and still does after all these showings because we make sure that it's always presentable. It also helps that Meridith and I sit in the patio with our two dogs so the potential buyers can walk through unimpeded. If they were in their kennels in the house, their barking would have been bothersome to the sellers, I'm sure, and we wouldn't be facing three offers so far. That may go higher.
I can't give any official word just yet, but things are moving swiftly enough that we will be residents of Las Vegas at the second week of September. That's real, confirmed, solid, set. We're going home!
I'm working on my book projects slower than before in order to prepare to move. But once in Las Vegas, full speed ahead, including my book about the making of the Airport movies. I found out that Airport is being released by Universal on Blu-ray next week as part of its 100th Anniversary. The extras contain only the theatrical trailer. Nothing about the history of it or how it single-handedly pulled Universal out of bankruptcy. It means there's an opening for my co-author and I and we have all the resources for it. I know that in Las Vegas, I'm going to accomplish a lot more than I have, especially armed with a library card that means so much because it's home to me.
Plus, time to shop for a car after we get settled. I need one and Meridith needs one. You can't get around Las Vegas much without one. If I can find a decent used Toyota Corolla, I'll be overjoyed. That's what I want.
That's all for now. After nine years of struggle in Santa Clarita, we're finally moving to where we belong, to where the word "home" means home and not just to say, "I'm tired of these errands. Let's go home," just to reference where our beds are, as it is here. I can't wait to get to the Whitney Library to ransack their Nevada history section and to put on hold what the other branches have, to have the job I've wanted for a long time, to have a Nevada driver's license, to explore every inch of the Las Vegas Valley and eventually the state. I no longer bear any animosity toward Santa Clarita and Southern California. I felt like a tourist in the Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive some time ago, and that was a start. Now I feel nothing toward Santa Clarita. I'm ready to move and forget about all of it, filling my soul with the new life that awaits me.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Relishing the Calm Before the Busy
Yesterday was a domestic maze of vacuuming, straightening up shelves, and books in boxes, and DVDs in that one plastic blue storage bin I have. Everything had to be finished by 4:30, which was when our realtor was to arrive to take pictures to post in our "for sale" listing. He came at 4:41, took all the pictures, gave his impression on the current market in our area, and exclaimed over features he hadn't noticed before, which may help sell our place faster, including a door at the back of the garage that opens outside. Most units have doors that open into either the laundry room or the kitchen, but we also have one that opens into the master bedroom. Plus, two sensor lights in the patio, not just one.
There's still much to do. Mom wants to move the birds to the window in the middle of the dining room area, on top of that white cart, and move the table the birds' cage is sitting on next to our wooden, multi-shelf wall unit so we can put water and candy there for prospective buyers when they walk around. Plus, a cleaning service still has to come in to really vacuum deeply, scrub the tubs and the toilets, and get everything fully sparkling again.
So this is it. It's finally happening. And I'm sitting here, fully at peace, because I know that we'll finally have a city to call home, definitely by the end of the month. I'm not worried about the tasks still to come, about the packing, about loading the boxes onto the truck of whatever moving company we use, hoping it all gets there intact, unlike when we moved from Pembroke Pines, Florida to Valencia nine years ago, and half of our stuff was missing, and the other half looked like shit. Bad enough that I knew basically nothing about the Santa Clarita Valley right then, but we had to deal with this too.
It's much easier this time because we're moving to where we know we belong. Plus, instead of driving across the country in five days, it'll just take four hours and crossing one state line. California into Nevada, leaving California behind for good. Save for Buena Park and Baker, both of which I want to use in a novel and a play, respectively, I never want to know anything about California ever again. I understand that myriad residents of Southern California go to Las Vegas for the weekend, and that's fine. As long as they turn around and go back, I'll have no trouble with them. Fortunately, it's somewhat difficult to pick them out since the crowd on the Strip is so varied and so interesting. Las Vegas is for everyone, and I'm proud to soon be part of that.
I'm not worried about any of the tasks ahead. They'll all be done, we'll move into our new home (details to come, but not right away since we're still in the final stages, and it won't be ready to move into until the end of the month, which is exactly when we intend to move from here), and I'll begin exploring every inch of the Las Vegas Valley like never before. We'll get our new drivers' licenses, new library cards, I'll happily do whatever I must in pursuit of my new job, and life will be as great as it was for us back in 1992, the last time I think we were truly happy, when we lived in Casselberry, Florida, had annual passes to Walt Disney World, and our neighborhood in the Deer Run development was home. 20 years is a long time to go without the feeling of home, so it's no wonder I'm going to immediately eat up as much as I can right away. The excitement of a tourist inside a resident, but living more reasonably, since a resident cannot live like a tourist. We still have to keep regular hours, and get up early in the morning and go to work like anyone else who does the same around the world. The casinos being open around the clock, bless those who can work those late-night shifts and those well into the night. I couldn't.
It feels a little odd to be moving to where we finally belong. I'm not entirely used to that, just yet. It's brand-new to me. But I'm sure I'll adjust quickly once I see our new home in person and the full-on view of the Strip when you pull out of the development. This time, at least, the final time, I know exactly what it looks like and what to expect and all that I'll be able to enjoy there. A major improvement on knowing nearly nothing about our apartment in Valencia, thinking it would be one way, and it turning out to be completely different from what I thought it would be. This is accurate. I know the layout, I know our proximity to middle schools in the area, and how long it takes to get to the Strip, to the nearby Whitney library branch, and to my beloved Pinball Hall of Fame. I am truly going to be home. And I am at peace for good.
There's still much to do. Mom wants to move the birds to the window in the middle of the dining room area, on top of that white cart, and move the table the birds' cage is sitting on next to our wooden, multi-shelf wall unit so we can put water and candy there for prospective buyers when they walk around. Plus, a cleaning service still has to come in to really vacuum deeply, scrub the tubs and the toilets, and get everything fully sparkling again.
So this is it. It's finally happening. And I'm sitting here, fully at peace, because I know that we'll finally have a city to call home, definitely by the end of the month. I'm not worried about the tasks still to come, about the packing, about loading the boxes onto the truck of whatever moving company we use, hoping it all gets there intact, unlike when we moved from Pembroke Pines, Florida to Valencia nine years ago, and half of our stuff was missing, and the other half looked like shit. Bad enough that I knew basically nothing about the Santa Clarita Valley right then, but we had to deal with this too.
It's much easier this time because we're moving to where we know we belong. Plus, instead of driving across the country in five days, it'll just take four hours and crossing one state line. California into Nevada, leaving California behind for good. Save for Buena Park and Baker, both of which I want to use in a novel and a play, respectively, I never want to know anything about California ever again. I understand that myriad residents of Southern California go to Las Vegas for the weekend, and that's fine. As long as they turn around and go back, I'll have no trouble with them. Fortunately, it's somewhat difficult to pick them out since the crowd on the Strip is so varied and so interesting. Las Vegas is for everyone, and I'm proud to soon be part of that.
I'm not worried about any of the tasks ahead. They'll all be done, we'll move into our new home (details to come, but not right away since we're still in the final stages, and it won't be ready to move into until the end of the month, which is exactly when we intend to move from here), and I'll begin exploring every inch of the Las Vegas Valley like never before. We'll get our new drivers' licenses, new library cards, I'll happily do whatever I must in pursuit of my new job, and life will be as great as it was for us back in 1992, the last time I think we were truly happy, when we lived in Casselberry, Florida, had annual passes to Walt Disney World, and our neighborhood in the Deer Run development was home. 20 years is a long time to go without the feeling of home, so it's no wonder I'm going to immediately eat up as much as I can right away. The excitement of a tourist inside a resident, but living more reasonably, since a resident cannot live like a tourist. We still have to keep regular hours, and get up early in the morning and go to work like anyone else who does the same around the world. The casinos being open around the clock, bless those who can work those late-night shifts and those well into the night. I couldn't.
It feels a little odd to be moving to where we finally belong. I'm not entirely used to that, just yet. It's brand-new to me. But I'm sure I'll adjust quickly once I see our new home in person and the full-on view of the Strip when you pull out of the development. This time, at least, the final time, I know exactly what it looks like and what to expect and all that I'll be able to enjoy there. A major improvement on knowing nearly nothing about our apartment in Valencia, thinking it would be one way, and it turning out to be completely different from what I thought it would be. This is accurate. I know the layout, I know our proximity to middle schools in the area, and how long it takes to get to the Strip, to the nearby Whitney library branch, and to my beloved Pinball Hall of Fame. I am truly going to be home. And I am at peace for good.
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