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Above this text you see a picture. A blarey, bright picture with funny gingham checked yellow curtains (not my choice), and a plate full of something, which you probably can’t quite make out. It happens that it’s my lunch. But not just any old lunch, a lunch partially cooked (the other part raw) on a stove that I installed with my own two hands (and a leatherman) in my new kitchen. A kitchen in which I have set up the previous satellite kitchen (baker’s rack) as a place to eat while I ponder the great outside and marvel at the fact that I can stand up and whirl around and extend my arms, and oh my goodness, it’s a real kitchen.

I am stupidly excited about the new kitchen, as well as the hallway of my new place. The hallway is also photogenic, but seriously? You can’t all want to see pictures of my whole apartment. Trust me when I say there are parquet floors and they are vitrificados (finished), which means I will not have to do the wax-on wax-off shuffle again for as long as I live here.

I have been talking about moving for as long as some of you have been reading here, and for years, for those of you who (like me) don’t easily keep track of time. My last apartment had many great features. It was not the one before it (a truly horrible little hovel, with carpet in the bathroom). It had a great view, lots of light, was conveniently located in Barrio Brasil, had giant windows, from which I would take lots of pictures. It was also too small for me and my stuff, so cleverly tetrissed into place. My proof of this is how easily all this stuff that was in my previous tiny apartment has expanded to take up so much space in my current home.

Oh heck, here’s the darn hallway, with many linear feet of closetified (shelves and racks and things) closet. Oh, great organizational boon.


There’s more, so much more. Many thanks to friends who heeded my crazy need to drag things over under cover of darkness, and who helped me to decide which stove to buy and whose little girl played with a box of scarves and then said “ep-ee” to get help to put the top back on.

There is great joyousness in the land, and maybe soon I will answer the question, “What made you finally decide to move” which is the question I have most been asked. That, and “When are you having a party?” Oh friends, do you know nothing about me?

Deets: About five blocks from my old place, near Metro Los Héroes on a street that if you block out the last two letters stands in as slang for the male genitalia. Oh, ri-KELM (as some people used to call it), I won’t really miss you!