Anyone still reading this might have noticed I’ve been somewhat distracted lately. Basically, I’m taking time off from Canootervalve, but seem to still be writing. Peculiar, that.

Between the two gigs, the occasionally Manic Mechanic piece for Dirt Rag and the suspension system design, dull moments have been few and far between. Add in a house search that commenced 9:00am the morning I hit Portland and has chugged along steadily (second day in a row of going house hunting after work), and at this point I’m just looking for a peaceful and beautiful home where I can finally have that massive heart attack.

We’re committed to Surburbia–sort of intentionally. Bear taking monster dumps in your yard, and constantly having to relocate rattlesnakes is OK when you’re twenty five and have no kids (actually, it’s not even OK then, really), but three kids later, we’re more than ready for the cul de sac. After hearing the wife and kids got hit with fifteen inches of snow back home on the mountain in Pennsylvania this week, this sentiment has only been reinforced.

Still, all these houses I’m seeing sure are close together.

Growing up my life was pretty great when we were one of only a few houses in the neighborhood. Lots of dirt in which to play all day long. Between the lead in the soil, mine shafts that would occasionally open when I used to play, and general radioactivity, it’s somewhat surprising I’m not clutching my Deschutes Black Butte Porter in my handy prehensile tail as I type this.

The search goes on, anyway. I’ll be plenty happy when all if it’s over, and I can once again blame my typos and general incomprehensibility on the fact that I was typing all this while watching The Colbert Report. Until then, I’ll practice getting used to some actual neighbors by wearing pants inside the house. At least during peak hours.