DEBRIS.COMgood for a laugh, or possibly an aneurysm

I trust everyone realized I didn’t really buy the crooked house pictured previously in this space. Those photos were taken somewhere in Amador County a few months ago.

Here, somewhat more exiting but a lot less orange, is the house I really did buy: kitchen, view from deck.

I am so impressed with this, I can’t even tell you.

Aaron Lyon is an ambitious guy. He’s written a rock opera, and will be performing it on stage in September (2002). There’s nothing like booking a two-week run at the local theater to inspire you to stick to your recording schedule, eh?

Here’s the home site: Hollywood Outsider. Follow the recording progress, listen to rough mixes, read lyrics. Watch it grow. Or, rather, listen.

In the interests of editorial objectivity (always a priority here on debris.com) (snort!), I should tell you that I contributed to the drum track of the song Dead Singers, via the magic of MIDI. I thank Aaron for asking; I’m excited to be a part of the project.

Check out the harmonies on Back on Track pt. 1. Crazy!

Update: The CD is now available, and it sounds great. Hear samples at the Superconductor Music page.

Today was the open house — three hours of strangers helping themselves to a tour of my home. At first this felt very invasive; I had visions of covering my desk with a big sheet lest anyone poke at my workstation. But after a few showings, and reassurances from my realtor that in his years of practice he’d never had any client report anything missing, I relaxed a bit. I did count all my DVDs this morning though.

My realtor instructed me to be absent during the open house. Apparently there’s nothing worse than having the homeowner around to make prospective buyers nervous. Especially homeowners who are hovering near their electronics and media collections making sure no one touches anything.

So, I did something I have never done before: I went to a movie by myself. During the day, even. It was actually a nice change of pace, although it stung when I ordered my ticket and the cashier at the theater said, in a voice dripping with as much derision as I generally feel about people who go to the movies by themselves, “just one?” I nearly said, “Hey, wait! I really do have friends!” But the evidence was not in my favor, and arguing the point could only have made me more pathetic.

Here’s the morning routine for people whose house is for sale: get up early, shower quickly, hide the soap and shampoo. Hang the towel in the sun to dry. Eat quickly, wash the dishes, hide the sponge. Wipe everything. Skim the newspaper, then walk it around the side of the house to where the recycling bin is stashed, out of sight. Vacuum. And then hope the realtors call rather than appear unannounced. Whatever it takes, don’t get caught on the toilet when the doorbell rings.

We’ll endure a week of this. I want the buyer to have time to be sure this is the perfect place. I expect to begin repeat showings soon.

I went to the house we’re buying twice before making our offer, just to confirm my initial impression that I could happily spend the next 50 years there. The second visit was during their open house. As I was walking in, some other prospective buyers were walking out, and I remember thinking, “yeah, that’s right, get out of my house!” I already knew we’d get it. I want that to happen for someone here as well.

Sorry to leave you hanging yesterday. Here is a photo of the new house and grounds, and a close-up of the new house.

Yeah, the house is a bit smaller than we’d planned. We compromised on size to get something in this exact shade of safety orange.

So, just like that (snap fingers here), we bought a house.

If you’re interested in the old one, let me know.

My cheerful phone voice is getting a real workout. When realtors call, my charm goes to 11.