Burned out house on Arden Noville Rd.

 The iPhone can take some pretty great pictures when the light is perfect. No filters needed to hide the poor image quality. I love the sharpness of this one.

A creepy mattress in the attic is better than a creepy mattress in a basement.

Martinsburg photographs

Martinsburg photographs, late February

 It seems as though every single person in Martinsburg has one of these in their front yard.

Martinsburg photographs

Since I'll be living in Martinsburg for a while I might as well try and find some shit that looks cool and take a picture of it. When I do, I'll post it on here.

Selling our house.

So, the past few months our house has been on the market. This November will be 6 months and we’ve had more viewings than I can account for, with only one of those visits evolving into an actual offer which was ruined by the carelessness of their realtor. I am at work today thinking about all this and thought to write it down, not to alleviate any sort of stress, just to kind of flush out the pipes.

Luckily we’re not up against a wall and have to sell; we really don’t “have” to sell until spring of next year, we just want to sell.  But the hardest thing about selling isn’t immaculately cleaning the house every time, taking the pets somewhere, waiting, or even the lack of offers in spite of 15+ viewings; it’s the constant small talk you have to make about it with friends and family.

I feel bad for couples who are unsuccessfully trying to have a child and constantly get asked by people “So, how’s the baby-making coming along???” Obviously, if they have a kid, you’ll know. Otherwise it’s just adding insult to injury. In the same line, I constantly get asked how the house selling is going. “Oh, it’s going great, it hasn’t sold yet!” is not an option. It’s not the same as asking someone how unlocking all the achievements in Call of Duty is going, we’re talking about something I have that costs hundreds of thousands of dollars that I don’t necessarily want anymore and can’t unload. It’s actually kind of embarrassing. Every time someone makes an inquiry to the status of the house I have to be reminded, and remind them, that it is, and I am, still ultimately a (potentially costly) failure. That sounds a little harsh but it seems to be the reality.

I’m very confident in my home. So far, the vast majority of people who come for a viewing love it. I can hear people oohing and ahhing while I stand outside near the open window. The only person who didn’t like it was a girl who, for some reason, expected a place that looked like a condo. I have to imagine that she saw the interior photos of the house and decided to waste my time anyway. This past weekend I had a couple come for a viewing and they loved the house, but expressed that they had to take care of his decrepit mother who “has a real hard time with stairs.” Excuse me? Stairs? You told me a day earlier that you loved the look of the house; did you fail to notice that it’s TWO STORIES? How do you think I get up there? I didn’t install a fucking escalator if that’s what you thought. Good luck finding a rancher in Baltimore City.

It really hasn’t been that bad overall. We’re saving a lot of money by avoiding a realtor, doing the extra leg work ourselves and getting a bit of an education in the process. In the end, it’s just a waiting game.

Work? Why?

I don't understand work.

I don't understand why we all have to do this. At this point, it's a complete requirement for life and the majority of us, regardless of the job, have to follow almost the exact template as everyone else. Wake up, get to work at a certain time, stay for a certain time then leave at a certain time. I don't understand how we've decided as a society that this is okay. It's pretty much standard across the globe.

I want to be able to wake up whenever I want. After that, if I have work to do at my work, then I go and do it. Once that work is done, I leave and go home. If there's no work to do that day, I stay home. I get paid a reasonable amount to live and have extra simple pleasures but that's it.

This style isn't for everyone, obviously police can't operate by this schedule, but there are quite a lot of us who can. Me, in particular. Why should I have to suffer?

It's not fair.

The Dorsey Farm i.e. doin' redneck shit

Latarian wants to do hood rat stuff with his friends, because it's fun to do bad things. I can't say I disagree. In fact, I was reminded today of the bad things I would get into, but the difference between Latarian and myself is that I did country rat stuff with my friends.

When I became a teenager I left the world of doing awesome kid shit and entered into the world of doing awesome teenager shit. My peers were acquiescing into adult life by mimicking their parents. While everyone else my age at E. Russell Hicks was hanging out in the woods behind the school smoking, having sex and just being cool, I was Elijah's farm being even cooler.  For me, the woods held much more entertainment than smoking and awkward diddling with a girl. There was plenty of time for that later in life.

The most fun I ever had at Elijah's house was driving cars. For some reason they always had a bunch of beater station wagons around the property and we would pop one in neutral, push it to the gas pump, fill it up and go tearing around the fields for hours. Remember, we're 14 years old at the time doing up to 40 mph through a corn field. My first argument with my parents over when I should be able to get my learners permit was "I've been driving since I was 14! I'm a great driver, just ask Elijah!". Whenever we drove a vehicle to complete exhaustion and it would break down on us (these cars weren't worth stuff like new motor oil or engine coolant) in the middle of a field, we'd go get a sledgehammer and a baseball bat and destroy the thing. The fun never stopped. Then we'd chain it to a tractor and drag it out of there. When we ran out of cars Elijah rigged his riding lawn mower's carburetor in order to double the speed. I'd hang onto the back of the seat and we'd zip around, bouncing all over the place. Mowers aren't meant to go that fast.

We made bombs. We'd cut open shotgun shells for the gunpower and stuff it in whatever container we could find/build and blow shit up. WE CUT OPEN SHOTGUN SHELLS TO MAKE BOMBS.

Shotguns, rifles and paintball guns flowed like water. Trips to the river, exploring deep into caves (which in hindsight was extremely dangerous, I wouldn't do now what I did then) and wandering through woods was the norm.

"Youth is wasted on the young." -George Bernard Shaw

I'm glad that doesn't apply to me.