Reboot

So we've moved. All our things are out of the old place, and into the new place. Our shitty, two bedroom townhouse/apartment in the middle of the woods is no longer our "home". Maybe someone else will enjoy the garden we built, or the notes I left in various places with things like instructions on how to light the furnace (seriously, it was hard for me the first time), or the other small improvements we made on the abode.

But now, now we're in a huge three bedroom house. It is fully equipped with AC, an ice maker, a dishwasher, and all sorts of things we haven't had for what seems like forever. I think we're gonna like it in our new place. It's within ten minutes to work for me. It's closer to our friends. It has a host of awesome little shops and pizza places and butchers and niche-ey things.

We're nestled away in this little part of Covington called Peaselburg. Apparently that's slang German for goose-shit, because during the initial years of existence, Peaselburg was home to immigrants that kept geese. Like, lots of them. It was food, and geese have to eat and poop.

Anyway, now the little neighborhood is quite pleasant, no goose-shit anywhere. I have noticed something, though, whenever someone who knows anything about Northern Kentucky asks me where I moved to, and I reply Peaselburg, they sorta drop their expression a bit. They seem... I dunno, saddened by this. They mutter something like, "Oh, that's nice..." and then just move on to something else.

What the fuck? The place isn't bad, really. The neighborhood is full of blue-collar workers who work every day and come home to a nice home cooked meal and then sit on their porch and smoke and think about things. That's pretty much what I like to do, so I fit right in. My car is not the nicest nor is it the non-nicest car on the block, so I fit right in.

I imagine it would be different if I had moved to some meth-production neighborhood, or if murders were an all time high just up the street, but that's not the case here. I live in a nice place, damnit. My neighbors are friendly, but they keep their respectable distance. When moving in, our truck got stuck halfway in the driveway, and several of them hopped off their porches to come investigate and offer their opinions on how to un-stick the stuck truck.

And anyway, I like it, so I don't really care what anyone else thinks.

I've got two grills now, too. Very soon I will be hosting a large meat-fest full of grilled sizzling meats fresh-cut from our local butchers. There will also be local wines from the vineyards down the street. You are welcome to come attend.