03 June, 2009

Making the most of the space in your studio, step one.

No basement since the dawn of modern construction has ever come without a previous occupant's crap. There's always some oddity left behind, and this basement is no different. Moved Out Tom has a few oddities laying around here. Some planks & studs, miscellaneous screws and switches and such, a pair of lamps, a chalk board, and a broken mirror that he stenciled two faces on. One is his, and I can't tell if the other one is John Turturro or Barack Obama. Tom has, to my knowledge, no desire to collect these things or even return to this house. That is not the issue, as the resolution is simply a dumpster away.
The issue is Maran's stuff. Granted, the space it occupies is minimal and would take only a pickup truck and a half of an afternoon to get taken care of, but that is not the issue. It's not that there's a bike, a trio of stools, an ottoman, a futon mattress, a pottery wheel (yes, a full-on, Ghost-ass pottery wheel), whose canopy is that?, and two buckets of landscaping stones that are taking up space. Nope, it has to do with a number of things, buckle up:

1) There are four people living in this house. One lost the majority of her stuff moving here from Portland, OR, but she still has a lot of stuff. One gave away, threw out, or otherwise got rid of the majority of his stuff thanks in part to nagging girlfriends and a need to cut the fat from his life, but he still has a lot of stuff. Two are not minimalists, so they have a lot of stuff. There is simply not room for a fuckin' pottery wheel down here. See, people who live here need that space. Or I can phrase it like this: The people who pay for this space would like to use this space.

2) Maran has not lived here since... I don't even remember how long ago it was. That's what happens when you move in for a month and then move back out: people's memories get fuzzy as to your actual tenure. I can tell you, though, that the year was 2008 and it was before November, so even if we say it was as recently as October 2008, that means her shit has been here for eight months. I'm not an unreasonable guy, but that's two thirds of one year. It's not like when your roommate moves out with the majority of their stuff and asks if they can leave their microwave for a week for one reason or another. It's not like when your really cool roommate moves out with the majority of their stuff and asks if they can leave something heavy behind for a month until they move out of their parents' house and into their new place or secure a storage locker. No, this is somebody who moved out and decided to leave their shit here indefinitely, and it was just kind of alright because it was kind of on Tom, which brings us to...

3) Tom don't live here no more. This was Tom's deal, and this was formerly Tom's space, and Tom owns, I think, two shirts and a Bic lighter. For real, the guy's a minimalist, so that his space was encroached upon by some more stuff with which he never had to deal was nothing to him. But that's the thing: it was nothing to him. We've replaced one guy who owned a pizza cutter and a futon mattress with two people who are preparing for the world of home ownership. Again reiterating the need for space while pointing out that the motherfucker who gave the OK is gone. The OK goes with him. Kind of brings us to...

4) Not trying to be a dick, but Maran was really Tom's friend. Nobody from Tom's crew is going to come by and hang out with anybody here. Therefore, Maran and the occupants of this house are closer to acquaintances more than they are friends. It's kind of like this: If you never come over here to hang out with any of us, why would we hold your stuff for you? I know, I know, that makes Charlie sound like a dick. Charlie sounds like a dick because he's not interested in letting somebody to whom he never talks or has a reason to contact stow their shit for an indeterminable period of time in the house for which he pays a share of rent.

5) George told Maran we need the space in the house "immediately". The word "immediately" was brought into play. This was three nights prior to the first of June which was the day Tom was sheduled to vacate, the day Dave and Laura were scheduled to begin occupancy, and the day that is a (conservative) total of eight months after Maran moved the fuck out. Maran is reported to have said she would try that weekend and that if it wasn't that weekend it would be the next. I get that not everybody can secure a damned pickup truck in a forty eight hour period - No. Wait. Fuck that.


Like this. Right now, I start making calls. I talk to a few friends. I find a guy who has a truck. I ask him what he's doing after work. I tell him I need him to come over with his truck. If he says he can't do it, I offer him a six pack. He says he can be over in twenty minutes. I post "20 minutes" in the comments section and I say, "Cool. I really just needed to know how long it would take you if I called and asked you."
He says, "What?"
I say, "Yeah, I don't really need your truck, I just needed to know how long it would take you to get here with it."
He says, "Huh?"
I say, "Yeah, it's for a blog comment."
He says, "So, you don't need me to come over with the truck."
I say, "Nope, just needed to prove a point."


Even if you were stranded in time, you could find a guy with a pickup truck.
People have been moving since they were able to walk upright, primarily to follow mammoths, eventually to get away from the devastating cold of the Ice Age, and so and so on and time went on and people changed domiciles as they evolved and THEY WERE ALWAYS ABLE TO GET A HOLD OF A GUY WITH A TRUCK!!! Get off your ass!

6) Believe me, nobody here wants to throw out Maran's stuff, but the living room that was previously filled to the gills is clearing out, which means that objects are migrating. A lot of things have migrated up to Dave and Laura's room. A lot of things have migrated to the bathroom. A lot of things have migrated to the kitchen. There are still things that have yet to migrate that have no place to which they can migrate. What this means is that these things will be coming down here, seeking asylum, perhaps before the week is out. The end of this week being the latest that Maran can come grab her stuff. Nobody here is waiting for Maran to get her shit together so that they can return to a living arrangement that somehow bares the faintest semblance of normalcy. (I say "faintest semblance" because, even if we were to speak strictly about me, I'm a twenty eight year old man with three roommates, one of whom is my ex-girlfriend, a dog, and a cat that was just kind of left here.)

In short, things need to be taken care of and soon. Tom's getting until this weekend to get the last of his scraps, Maran's getting only until then. She's had more than enough time and more than ample warning.


  1. More importantly, Ryan, how long would it take you to get a pickup truck?

  2. Um, zero seconds. I have a truck sitting in my driveway. Even better, it's teal.

  3. Ooh! The paradoxical whachamacallems. You are the guy with the pickup truck.

  4. I am. The only people I will help are my cousins who need to cross the border, though.


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