Atlas Shrugged It Off...

Almost 48 hours after helping a friend move to a new apartment, I feel like the upper half of my body has been beaten repeatedly with a stick. The move itself only took two hours, and I'm feeling it. Once again, I'm finding bruises I can't remember getting. My shoulders, back, arms, and chest all give slight protests in response to any action.

To say that I worked up a sweat Saturday would be a gross understatement. After the first 30 minutes, I could feel the beads of sweat running down my face, dripping off my nose like a passing summer shower. Yet I couldn't take too long of a break. When there's a task to be done, idleness is not in my vocabulary. There were moments when I was pulling the cart filled with furnishings down the long corridor when I imagined the similarities to a work horse tied to the plow in a field. Too tired to think or object. Hard work can be its own form of tunnel vision.

Afterward, we relaxed before heading out for dinner and then on to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Though it has been nearly a decade since I first watched the stage performance to accompany the movie with the 69th Floorshow Company, it seemed very different this time. I had forgotten most of the lines, yet many audience members seemed to know less than I did. I remembered the days of sitting in a smaller audience, closer to the screen and the action, surrounded by enthusiastic people shouting out a chorus of one-liners.

Listening to someone yelling at the people to be quiet and another college-age man behind me giving an in-depth psychoanalysis of the performance and people took away from the carefree atmosphere for a moment and made me realize how much things change.

As we spilled out of the theater, an intoxicated man emerged from a nearby building (presumably a bar), shouting and threatening to annihilate one of the young, skinny boys from the audience. His friends held him back as I lost sight of them in the parking deck. What an angry place this world can be at times.

I have much to accomplish this week, yet I still feel utterly exhausted. Luckily, some things will have to wait until a few books arrive from other libraries. My research work has been going by rather slowly. Obtaining old maps to discern past lives of buildings is never an easy task. Still, I am finding a wealth of fascinating information about history and people. I will probably share a few little tidbits as time progresses.

I realize too that my usual Friday "road trips" have fallen to the wayside. This hasn't been for lack of enthusiasm. I do have my reasons, but I will try to indulge those who miss the tales with something comparable. There is so much to say and share, yet there is only so much time in the day...

Let Freedom Ring...

Another interesting week is drawing to a quick close here. And of course, I missed out on some of the best excitement.

In an interesting twist of events, the rotten downstairs neighbors are officially moved out as of tomorrow. I like to believe that perhaps a little magick helped, but they ultimately brought about their own demise.

According to the landlord, while I was away this weekend there was an incident involving another neighbor in the small complex I live in. Our friendly, pothead, drunken hillbilly below had a few too many beers. While under the influence in the afternoon, he staggered out into the yard... wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

Unfortunately, the other neighbor downstairs had his young daughter visiting him. She was mortified (as anyone would be who has been scarred with the vision of scrawny, naked, white trash) and told her father. While he is normally a very quiet, calm individual, he went berserk. The police were called. The landlord found 27 filed complaints against the yahoos downstairs. The uneducated streaker was immediately banned from the residence. His faithful, alcoholic, hilljack female companion couldn't bare to be without him. So, they decided that in light of the circumstances (and their inability to pay this month's rent), they would pack up and leave.

Tomorrow, they remove the last of their belongings, haggle again about getting back their deposit, and disappear into the great Northfield abyss. A peaceful serenity will once more return to Sagamore Hills. Birds will sing. Children will roam free. Liberation will be a cause for celebration on Independence Day.

Hopefully, their replacements will be more tolerable...