Ghetto Fabulous

Flock Hall is in the ghetto - on a dead-end street, next to an overpass, down by the train tracks, with a neighbor who plays his drum set at odd hours of the night. In spite of the almost constant noise, our downstairs neighbor has decided that we are keeping him up at night.

I grant that there have been two parties recently, and that Ben, Mark, and I tread the hundred-year-old stairs like angry buffalo, but come on - the freight trains blowing their whistles as they go by at 60mph don't wake you, but chairs scraping on the kitchen floor do? Funking prink*...


At any rate, I have added a piece of ghetto fabulous furniture. I think that twelve cinderblocks and four 1x8s makes a lovely wall unit, and compliments the pale green walls very nicely. For the first time since coming to Laramie in the fall of 2002, I am fully unpacked.

*See "Shaun of the Dead"