Moving

We are not moving.

For the past 11 months, I've salivated at the thought of moving -- not to a new town (we like this one just fine, thanks, and besides, it's still new and shiny and ridiculously, fabulously progressive, what with moving here from Alabama), or to a new state (we would miss the cheese and beer), but to a new apartment.

This one's fine, mind you. It meets our basic needs. It's even got nice little extras like hardwood floors and built-in bookcases. But it's oh-so-small. And kind of dumpy. And completely impossible to keep clean, considering the fact the walls are insulated with cobwebs and the basement is a breeding ground for god knows what.

When I am bored or in need of a quick procrastination fix, I wander over to the classifieds and devour the apartment listings. And last month, when we realized we'd soon need to give 30-days' notice, I started looking in earnest. But then.

Then we realized it made no sense to move. Any way you look at it. It just doesn't. We love our 'hood, and we're nonprofit-poor, and there's no way we're finding a pseudo-two-bedroom in the same zip code for close to the same price (did I mention the foundation's crumbling?).

And so I'm letting go of the daydream. Last night we devised a redecorating plan to squeeze some semblance of a dining area into the living room, so we don't spend the next year continuing to balance dinner plates on our laps. That's how low my standards have fallen. All I need is a table to eat at, and I'm happy.

But tonight, while walking the dog, we passed a couple of "for rent" signs.

"Should I take down the number?" I asked JK. "Just to cover our bases?"

I obviously am having a hard time letting go.

Last weekend we visited my brother and sister-in-law in Phoenix and stayed in their lovely, relatively expansive home that boasts not one, but two dining areas. My brother converted the third bedroom into a home movie theatre, complete with a projector, huge screen mounted to the wall, and two rows of movie theatre seats he found on Craigslist.

My radical-leaning sister-in-law lamented the fact that she didn't feel comfortable hosting CopWatch meetings or anarchist reading groups in their living room.

"I almost need to hide where I live," she said. "A home theatre is so not anti-establishment."

And so I find my silver lining. The feminist radio collective will feel right at home here. Of this, I am positive.

the look

this morning was my cousin's confirmation. as a sweet coincidence, my aunt and uncle live here, in this mid-sized, uber-progressive town to which j and i have recently moved. so this morning we followed them to their church for the service. with the exception of a bus boycott re-enactment and rosa parks' wake, i don't think i attended church one time while living in alabama.

as soon as we settled into our row, j flipped open the program. "look!" he nudged me. there, in bold print on one of the first pages, was a notice that gluten-free wafers would be provided during the morning's communion. he gave me that look we've been giving each other with some frequency during the past few weeks, the one that involves raised eyebrows and a general expression of gleeful incredulity, the one that says, "we're not in alabama anymore".

the service began, and my cousin spoke a couple of times and was very poised (significantly more poised than i was at 14), and the sermon was lovely and they played a slide show of baby pictures for the two kids getting confirmed. and then the choir sang. and 3/4 of the choir was wearing birkenstocks. "look at their feet," i whispered to j. and again, we exchanged the look.

earlier tonight, j and i were eating dinner on the front porch (showing our southern feathers, we nod and say hello or hi ya'll to everyone who walks by). and as we finished the last of our tortellini, we heard the strumming of a banjo. soon, a guy wearing a straw hat and chewing on a long blade of grass walked down the sidewalk, playing his banjo. we made eye contact with the guy. we couldn't help it: we gave him the look. in return, he gave us a meaningful, almost imperceptible nod and kept walking.

rage is good has moved to wisconsin

so, i'm doubtful anyone checks this anymore b/c it's been, oh, EIGHT months since i last posted anything (and that last post was itself an apology for not posting anything in a while). i'm lame. i got busy. what can i say.

well, i can say this. rage is good has moved north. we left alabama behind to simmer it its own red dust, and high-tailed it to a state that is technically the midwest, but try telling that to the suthnuhs back home. this is north of oklahoma. therefore, this is the north.

and i gotta say. there's a hell of a lot less to be rageful about here. j and i were talking with our new neighbors and they were complaining about things like how sometimes the cars don't always respect the cyclists in the bike paths. and they went on and on about the travesty of the situation, while we were grinning like idiots and thinking, "bike paths?! they have bike paths here?!?" (and dog parks and organic gardens and people with green hair working at the FedEx, and gay people everywhere.)

someone else we met recently lamented that living here, in this city-so-blue-it's-blinding, was like living in a bubble. "it's sooo not the mainstream," this person said. and j and i were like, "exactly!! we need the bubble! bring on the bubble!!!" we're walking around with our mouths hanging open. seriously. drooling on the tofu at the co-op. it's embarassing.

but i'm sure we can get into some trouble here, too. maybe no horn ladies protesting outside of the abortion clinic. but something equally as entertaining.