222 our place in the universe
Sometimes I start with words, other times with pictures. The words days tend to be an extended rant on some subject, with sorta tangential images thrown in. The picture days go like this...
One of my favorite houses is for sale. There are so many "for sale" and "for rent" places right now!
So far sales prices haven't dropped that much, but I haven't seen this sort of availability since, well, maybe ever. Not the '08 crash, at least not here in the city. Not even the dot com crash.
Our next door neighbors, who bought their two bedroom condo for maybe 800k ten or more years ago are looking for a SFH. They've looked at 35 properties, and not been happy with one.
A lot of the places that have become available are up for a reason. They were too expensive, not in a great location, etc. This cottage? Well, it's down about a hundred rickety wood steps from the street, and is tiny. I think it's two earthquake shacks tied together. But for a walking lover like me? OMG.
Except for two things. It has zero afternoon sun, and it's a million dollars.
File under: ug, the future is here
Cloth face-mask, plus colored dust:
Space helmet thing plus dust:
Why do I say ug? Because turning our lovely atmosphere into something you need a helmet to survive simply sucks.
Adios, sign. You look pretty, your logo is familiar, but your damage is done. (Thanks Mr. Snake for the photo.)
This was a neat story. Guy above loses his custom surfboard on a wave in Hawaii.
It spends six months crossing the Pacific to the Philippines.
Where a guy buys it from his fisherman neighbor who snagged it in a net, then gets curious about the logo.
He's gonna give it back, but not until after the pandemic. In the meantime, surf's up!
Joe's been under pressure from Texas to keep on frackin'.
But once again, the future is leading the way.
We're just following along.
Sunday afternoon in the Castro featured a drag show, closed streets, and a fair amount of joyful people.
Yeah, I won't be disappointed at all if these streets stay closed.
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