Next up, housing.
We managed to finish packing in time for the movers’ arrival last week (though I had to abandon kniedzw to the task of handling them, since by then I was on my way to Dallas). More importantly, we managed — right before he left — to secure a sublease for our apartment, which we were on the hook for through April. Praise Be to the gods of housing, indeed. This is particularly worth noting because the subleaser we had lined up backed off at the last instant, leaving us with nothing. (I was caught somewhere between despair and murderous rage when I found that out, because I got the e-mail at 4:30 in the morning, right before we left to drive to the hospital for my father’s surgery. Can you say bad timing?) Anyway, all is well.
So now our stuff is somewhere in the Midwest, on its way here, and in the meantime we’re living at my brother’s house, which is where kniedzw has been all this summer. Our new place has a number of lovely things going for it, chief of which are the three skylights in the upstairs ceiling; combine that with big windows in the master bedroom and living room, and high ceilings and big rooms in general, and I am a happy cat with many sunbeams to nap in. (Once I have furniture instead of just a floor, that is.) My office is noticeably pink in the daytime, though, owing to the sun on the red roof tiles across the courtyard. Oh well. I can put up with pink.
Even better, it’s within walking distance of all kinds of fantabulous things. (Yes, d_aulnoy, such things do exist in California. Just not the part of it you’re living in.) After six years in a town with no Vietnamese food whatsoever, I now live within two minutes of some — most of those two minutes being spent getting out of and around my own apartment complex; if I could leap over the roof I’d be there in less than a minute. Had lunch there yesterday, and it wasn’t great, but you know what? There’s another one a block away, and more if I go looking. Yes, I am in the land of Asian Food Galore, particularly if you’re looking for Japanese. The Japanese population in San Mateo is dense enough that the restaurants don’t even have to call themselves “Royal Tokyo” or “Mr. Sushi;” they can be more obscure things like “Kaimuki” or even just “Liquid.” Y’know, like a normal restaurant, that can call itself whatever sounds nice.
Wandered on foot around downtown San Mateo for a little while this afternoon. It’s quite pleasant, and there’s Shakespeare in the Park this weekend, which always makes me look kindly on a town. (It’s Pericles, no less; this place has enough confidence in its outdoor Shakespeare to do the less-familiar plays.) The movie theatre is damned expensive, but it’s within walking distance, and it doesn’t suck like the Kerasotes monopoly in Bloomington, so hey.
More to come on this topic, I’m sure, once I actually start moving in.