Friday Shootout - Black and White

BAGMAN:  "It's about time you showed up!!  You...you...you!"

BUTLER (suggesting a G-rated word for Bagman): "Slackard?"

"Sorry, guys," I apologize without sincerity, combining it with a rationalization.  "First I had to get rid of the box that Bagman had been stored in before the odor permeates the new house.  Then I got lost trying to find the studio and kept walking into the laundry room instead. 

BUTLER: "What about the box where you kept me during the move?"

"You did a nice job while you were in storage," I admit.  "Karen decided to use it to replace the wardrobe that got broken in the move."

BAGMAN (Glaring at Butler): "Suck up!"

"Anyhow, guys, let's get started.  The topic for today is black and white photos of our town."

BAGMAN: "I'd rather be in a box."

Bagman leaves, Butler puts moisturizer cream on his hands and is, therefore, useless on the computer, so I continue without them.

My hometown.  Hmmph.  I guess my real new hometown is a place called Hanahan. 

 

I still think of myself as living in Charleston because it is easier to explain.  We actually moved from Mount Pleasant which is a more stuffy, fru-fru kind of suburb to Hanahan which is a more blue collar, down to earth kind of suburb. 

There are about 13,000 people in Hanahan and most of them are police officers.  If you mention Hanahan to anyone around here, the first thing they say is, "Be careful not to speed."   But I never know when I am driving in Hanahan anyway because county lines and town lines in this part of South Carolina intertwine like a bed of snakes.  People keep getting together and incorporating little towns to avoid paying County taxes and politicians keep drawing different county lines to make sure they contain people who will vote for them.  Average people like me never know where they are because every time I drive around a corner, I find a sign telling me I am in another town.

 

Revenue (probably more from traffic fines than taxes) has built a fairly nice municipal building which includes everything -- administrator, mayor, police, fire, court -- one stop shopping.  

 

The official town seal consists of a heron under a tree although, so far, I have seen no herons since I left Mount Pleasant.  I have seen some trees.  

 

The seal also says "Circa 1973" which means, I assume that the town incorporated sometime around 1973 -- don't they know the actual date? 

 

I try to think of something else to say but Butler pokes his head in the door.

BUTLER: "Bagman's gone into another box!"

"Damn!" I exclaim, realizing that I've been cursing more than usual, lately.  "Doesn't he know where the bathrooms are in the new house?!"  

We rush off to get him and as we run, I realize that I'm not sure where the bathrooms are either.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

360 degree erection

At least I've figured out which of the 2,346 boxes Bagman got packed into.  When I wrote the title for this blog, I heard faint snickering from a box marked: "boots, underwear, misc. bedroom stuff."  I'm still looking for Butler but suspect he is in one of the kitchen boxes, probably polishing silverware while he waits to be unpacked.

But despite Bagman's snicker, the title will be disappointing to strangers browsing for suggestive blogs.  

What follows is an 8-month series of 360 degree panoramas shot from approximately the same place as we humans took over another parcel of space from nature.

Not 360

 
I wish I had thought about it on the first day we saw the parcel -- when nature still owned it -- but I didn't start my periodic exercises until the mercenaries contractors had already cleared the land.

Anyhow, it was kind of fun doing it even though for several months I really thought it would never become reality since our old house just sat on the market like roadkill.   And I think I entertained the guys who were actually building the house when I would show up, walk resolutely into the middle of the site and stand, rotating slowly, clicking 10 to 12 shots as I turned.  I'd always grin, wave, and yell, "How ya doing?"   They'd always grin back and call out something that sounded like, "Ay ay, el gringo loco!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was going to wait for the last shot until everything was neat and tidy and pictures were hung on the walls but I realized that "neat and tidy" was never going to happen anyway and there really wasn't that much wallspace.

 

For now, I'm spending my time standing in the middle of this area turning in circles.  Not taking pictures...just turning in circles.  

 

 

 

 

 

GASP!! GASP!! Cought, sputter, flail!!!

Like a drowning man suddenly breaking the surface!

We have moved after what multiple screw-ups whcih might have made a great series of blogs if my sense of humor hadn't deserted me for most of it -- and I have Internet as of ten minutes ago.

But don't know what to do with it...

I've developed such a defensive, grumpy, emotionally traumatized shell of "who needs the @$%#ing Internet anyhow"

Plus we're not even completely unpacked yet.

I guess I'll recover slowly.   Sometime I might even take out my camera.  What I really want to do is take a nap. 

Waiting for Godot

Groundhog Day.  101 First Dates (or whatever the number was).

Another day of waiting, wondering if we'll ever move...

On the other hand it is a bit like a vacation.  A very tiny bit. 

Homeless

We were almost at the lawyers, 15 minutes from the scheduled close on our old house...everything finally packed into three Units or Pods for transport to the new place when our realtor called to tell us the close had been postponed!

Seems the buyers had forgotten one piece of paper and their bank was holding their mortgage application until it could review stuff.  So the buyers were stuck in a motel somewhere and we were stuck on the living room floor of my sister-in-law's.

And we still are!

Waiting for some banker to get around to approving the buyer's application.  Probably now won't happen until Monday!  At least there is wifi here and we have an iPad.  But it sucks.  We had kept out clothes for two days that now have to keep getting washed and re-worn.

And I don't want to think about what will happen if the unknown, uncaring banker decides not to put his stamp of approval on it and the whole thing falls through at this point.  

Grrrrr.