V.25 No.19 | 05/12/2016

Dream Blog #361

I walked down a long, white, carpeted hallway away from the olympic-sized swimming pool. As I passed the last window with a view of the pool room, I thought back to a few minutes earlier. I had just seen my friend Dylan, he told me he was living in the pool. I wasn't surprised, he basically lived in the pool in high school (he was on the swim team). Before you know it, I thought, he'll be growing fins.

Now I was on my way to visit my new neighbors. I had just moved to this rec-center-like-building. Earlier that day, I ran into them in the hall outside my door. They were an elderly couple; nice to me but always bickering. When I arrived I knocked loudly so they would hear me. A few moments after a muffled yell, the male counterpart opened the door.

Their apartment walls were white like the hallways. Though it was windowless, the room was bright because of their supplied d├ęcor. The interior was vibrant and bright. Upon entering, their very large and eager dog bounded over and inspected me to check if I was the type of person who pets dogs. I looked down and pet its smooth head.

Its body was made of black, overstuffed pillows with string tassels stacked one on top of the other. The head was one square, medium sized pillow, the body three large, rounded pillows, and each leg a dozen tiny, rounded pillows and so on. Its beady eyes looked me over and its pink tongue slipped out as it began to pant.

I followed my neighbor as he slowly brought me to the living room. I sat down on some bright, comfortable cushions and the dog laid down next to me, resting its head on my lap. The female counterpart brought me tea and asked if I thought I would be able to care for the dog while they go away on vacation soon.

I said yes and continued to chat with them. Eventually they left for their vacation and I remained, happily petting the pillow pup.

I wake up.

V.22 No.13 | 3/28/2013
I’m an old school list-maker.


Movin’ Ain’t Easy

The art of moving … no, I'm not talking about rhythmic gymnastics or complicated yoga poses, I mean the actual art of switching residences and claiming a new territory as your personal sanctuary. Since, I'm in a perpetual moving limbo (waiting for a roommate to decide whether or not she's leaving the big, bad Burque), I've been searching Craigslist and various classifieds in search of a new home, a fresh start so to speak.

Since I'm [still] relatively new to the city, I'm not entirely knowledgeable about the various zip codes, what they entail, the good neighborhoods, the bad neighborhoods, the apartments that are low rent v. apartments that are close to a McDonalds. But, I've found that the actual practice of visiting complexes, searching the interweb, and conversing with various consultants is an adventure in and of itself.

For instance, I spoke to one consultant via phone. I couldn't really understand his name through the static, but it sounded something like Naim (I hope that's correct). Extremely excited and chipper on the phone, Naim said he had a great apartment that had been renovated, and the monthly rate was a whopping $450 (all bills included). Since this was in my price range, I jumped at the opportunity, and asked for the address. He informed me that the apartment was on Towner and Juan Tabo. Since I currently live near there, I assumed that the neighborhood would be somewhat nice, and the location seems central enough (in that there are a lot of businesses and stores in that area).

But, as I turned down Towner, what I envisioned as a picturesque resort-like complex of townhouses and pools was quickly overshadowed by streets with pot-holes, some dudes with jeans around their knees giving me the what-you-want stare, and buildings that didn't seem quite renovated. Now, I grew up in what some refer to as “the hood,” and though I rarely get skittish driving through neighborhoods that are considered treacherous for high crime rates (again, I just moved here, so I'm not making any assumptions), this didn't seem like it was for me. So, I kindly turned my car around after throwing the dudes a peace sign, and drove off. I called Naim and informed him that it wasn't for me, and slightly saddened, he just said, “Okay, thank you for calling. Let me know if you're looking for anything in the future.”

Aside from that, I've visited complexes that are within my price range, where the leasing consultants describe a complex as familial, yet tiresome (whatever that means). And I've gone to some that are out of my price range where the consultants said, “We like to keep it quiet around here.” So, no loud music? I'm sorry … next!

So, obviously, the art of moving to a new apartment is a bit like soul searching. You'll hit a few embarrassing moments (like when I jumped a curb next to the leasing office of Wyoming Place in front of the maintenance man), moments of realization (where I realized that a living room might actually be a nice amenity rather than a studio apartment the size of my roommate's closet), moments of clarity (ie. When I came to the conclusion that maybe I'm looking too soon, and should just be comfortable in my current situation). But that's too easy. And so, the search continues …

V.20 No.5 |


Alibi Flickr Photo of the Day

Apartment Fire!

Posted to Alibi's Flickr photo pool by our pal stay-at-home-gypsy.

While the Crown Burns, the Sun Sets

After photographing the fire from the turquoise bridge over Gibson in Albuquerque, I returned to my car in the Bird parking lot (and bought a bottle of rum), and caught this.
The folks from the burning apartment were encamped in the Highland High School gym, which had been set up to house refugees from houses that had no heat, since the natural gas deliveries from Texas had proved inadequate to the task.
What a week it has been!!