Amiable is the Aim

A part of me would like to say that there are no flaws at The Estate. But I can't. Cussing. Democracy. Eggnog. F. G. Here at the house we are all too familiar with these frictions. I used to think it was hopeless. JK ... but seriously. Learning that friction creates heat is helpful in putting things in perspective. "Munch on it long enough and you can convert even the driest jerky into mountain climbing energy."

Now the key to this conversion is creativity ... and love. "Only light debunks darkness." Putting this claim under scope has been the unspoken experiment of The Estate. Quilling with our bodies on the parchment of each other, we're getting close to a conclusion. Really close. Something is happening as a result of our research. Trust. Unlikely as it may seem, tension is transformed through tickle fights into fodder for solidarity. V are becoming I.

We hope to, through our experiment, effect change. X-Militant gone local. "Yelling and shouting won't be as loud as a love song and a snuggle." Zoo Philosophy, that's what we'll call it when we discover it.

Someone please wash the dishes

Working on my lit anal paper late at night produced thoughtfulness (although any homework assignment has the potential to inspire totally unrelated thoughts). Alban, who is sitting here screwing up his physics homework, asked me if I felt guilty about having the friends I do.

No, I don't. I used to feel guilty sitting with my friends in the cafe or cloistering myself away to play effing hail with Alban and Alex. But then, I remembered sitting by myself in the cafe at Evergreen and watching movies in my empty apartment in Olympia. I've been to the valley and I am not about to repent for standing on the mountain top. When I think about the people I hang out with, and especially those I live with, I am overcome with an intense joy. Maybe it's gloating, but I would rather be with the people I am always with than with any other group of people on the planet.

We can't seem to stay on top of the dirty dishes. Oh, and someone keeps getting food spots on the dish rags.

The purpose of this blog.

"That place is such a piece," Alban said last spring as we were looking for a place to live, "let's look for something else." Three months, four sponges, two trips to the dump, and one dead mouse later and his attitude has changed. "This place is such a piece, but it's also awesome at the same time."

The House in darkness

It's a humble structure. Some might call it a dirty double wide, a fancy box with chipped paint and moldy potential. Others might call it a tribute to life itself, a symbol of the American dream. Still others are unsure.

This blog is designed to confound the confusion. It was specifically bred to dig through the mounds of false rumors covering The West Whitman Estate to uncover the skeletons of truth that lie beneath the crawl space.

Creepy skeletons notwithstanding, the point is ... no one knows; you can't tame nature. Sure you can destroy it and dam it and what not, but the minute you stop respecting it ... boom! You're neck deep in human sewage. Kind of like The Estate. It never ceases to surprise. As David so eloquently put it one night at family dinner, "Living here is like constantly being on the verge of a tickle fight." And no one wants to be on the wrong side of that exchange.