Post workout, rushing to get out of there so that I could get back to work to resume....what, working? Apparently not as I am blogging this critical event in my life here. Plus, why hurry back? The Nevada Legislature and our fantastic new governor may soon sink my entire ship here at this venerable institute of learning. And then what will I do? Move to Texas, Cambodia, or San Diego?
But wait, perhaps there is a glimmer of hope in this filthy village. We have showing number one for round two of the short sale debacle that has wrapped our lives around the trainwreck that was and remains the housing boom gone horribly bust for the last four years. Maybe we will get a buyer, get into a less expensive rental, keep the tenant in our condo paying on time, and begin to live life again. None of this will happen if this job goes away...but then again this desk is a freeway to a heart attack or stroke within the next dozen or so years, so why would I want to remain anyway?
And my iPhone was a grip slip away from cartwheeling into the toilet at the 24 Hour Fitness in south Reno, under a gray, spring sky with new snow on the mountains in mid-May 2011.
Monday 16 May 2011
Thursday 10 March 2011
Foreclosure Meadows
I live in a tract of homes in southeast Reno, Nevada that was, perhaps five or ten years ago, the place to live. Homes in the area ranged from $250k up to well over $600k. In the real estate meltdown that has taken place, these same homes are fetching anywhere from the low $100's to maybe $300k if the place is 5,000 square feet and in perfect condition with every conceivable upgrade. Virtually every home with a real estate sign in the front yard is a short sale.
The newest addition to the list of houses up for short sale is my own personal home. My wife and I bought the non-descript 1,840 square foot, four-bedroom "home" that was and is bereft of any sort of personality. If there was any merit to the place, it was the end of the court location that allows our kids to play outside without the constant threat of being mowed down by a Fed Ex truck or a hooligan in a lowered Kia Rio.
Fast-forward four years since we moved in and we find ourselves at a crossroads of economic peril combined with the grim reality that Reno, Nevada is possibly one of the worst places to be at this point in history, and has likely been that way for quite some time; we just haven't noticed it because things were humming along at an insanely unsustainable rate. The only things underpinning the Nevada economy over the last twenty years involved tourism and construction. Both have dried up and we are left with the abandoned shells of already-decimated schools, neighborhoods, and businesses. That we graduate less than 50% of our high schoolers says to me that this state has set itself up to become a third world country within the borders of the good old USA.
Back to my neighborhood. The house right next to mine has been abandoned for six months. The back yard is strewn with the detritus of the seemingly semi-normal folk that lived there for a while, at least until the primary owner of the joint allowed her late-teens niece and her Marlboro smoking friends to move in when she jumped ship to Las Vegas. One would think that some other destination would have beckoned in this grim economy. Regardless, all of them eventually left. There are still pots, pans, clothing, and various piles of housewares stacked up in every room in the house.
The newest addition to the list of houses up for short sale is my own personal home. My wife and I bought the non-descript 1,840 square foot, four-bedroom "home" that was and is bereft of any sort of personality. If there was any merit to the place, it was the end of the court location that allows our kids to play outside without the constant threat of being mowed down by a Fed Ex truck or a hooligan in a lowered Kia Rio.
Fast-forward four years since we moved in and we find ourselves at a crossroads of economic peril combined with the grim reality that Reno, Nevada is possibly one of the worst places to be at this point in history, and has likely been that way for quite some time; we just haven't noticed it because things were humming along at an insanely unsustainable rate. The only things underpinning the Nevada economy over the last twenty years involved tourism and construction. Both have dried up and we are left with the abandoned shells of already-decimated schools, neighborhoods, and businesses. That we graduate less than 50% of our high schoolers says to me that this state has set itself up to become a third world country within the borders of the good old USA.
Welcome Home
Back to my neighborhood. The house right next to mine has been abandoned for six months. The back yard is strewn with the detritus of the seemingly semi-normal folk that lived there for a while, at least until the primary owner of the joint allowed her late-teens niece and her Marlboro smoking friends to move in when she jumped ship to Las Vegas. One would think that some other destination would have beckoned in this grim economy. Regardless, all of them eventually left. There are still pots, pans, clothing, and various piles of housewares stacked up in every room in the house.
Foreclosure Meadows, the future of Reno, Nevada.
Tuesday 18 January 2011
Looking for a place to fall apart
My wife is at the threshold of the door, ready to leave me at any moment because of my flaws, faults and mistakes. I spoke with or exchanged brief text messages with another girl on half a dozen occasions over a three year period. I was not completely truthful with my wife on April 12, 2010 when a text reading something like "I am now a certified trainer" or something to that effect blipped onto my cell phone. There was nothing to tell other than I had nagging doubts about my wife's fidelity over the course of our marriage due to circumstance and direct evidence. I had kept that infrequent line of communication open with this other person because I wanted to know if she knew anything, or had heard anything about my fears. That this "other person" was the former wife of my wife's ex-husband lends nothing but a Jerry Springer quality to the story.
My wife wants to know if anything happened between us. It did not and will never. There is no connection except a shared previous betrayal borne from the two ex-spouses. Nothing more. Were we friends? No, not even that. Confidantes? No, nothing except potential voices or words of warning sent through the air that might help the other avoid further despair. Devastation is a better word. My first wife cheated on me with at least two men that I know about. That there were others would not surprise me. I sought revenge then because I had no further love for my first wife. Amber is very different; my love for her is visceral and deep and bonded to my heart. I cannot imagine life without her, but explicit e-mail exchanges with her ex and friendships with young, attractive, single men at her job continue to whisper doubts to me, though their intensity lessens over time.
If this is indeed the beginning of another end for me, I cannot remain where I am. Short sales, jumping off the "safe" ship of this job, and everything up for bid on Craigslist before my escape back to the west. Somewhere on the coast to lose myself in the mist of the Pacific. Reno would never fill my windshield ever again. This dry, grim place will only drift through my mind in the past tense in all of my future thoughts. Reality may make an attempt to moderate such a fierce turn of the wheel as I am a dad to a wonderful and challenging boy of nearly 11 years. He may want to stay here for friends and familiarity...or Texas may be a better option for him at that point, which is a place I say now that I cannot live. My best hope for that scenario is that he would go along with me to my lonely place and slide into a new groove with new friends and a completely changed backdrop for life.
Is the end of this winding road a brick wall? I care virtually nothing for the things we have gathered. I need only enough income for food, clothing and a place to fall apart.
My wife wants to know if anything happened between us. It did not and will never. There is no connection except a shared previous betrayal borne from the two ex-spouses. Nothing more. Were we friends? No, not even that. Confidantes? No, nothing except potential voices or words of warning sent through the air that might help the other avoid further despair. Devastation is a better word. My first wife cheated on me with at least two men that I know about. That there were others would not surprise me. I sought revenge then because I had no further love for my first wife. Amber is very different; my love for her is visceral and deep and bonded to my heart. I cannot imagine life without her, but explicit e-mail exchanges with her ex and friendships with young, attractive, single men at her job continue to whisper doubts to me, though their intensity lessens over time.
If this is indeed the beginning of another end for me, I cannot remain where I am. Short sales, jumping off the "safe" ship of this job, and everything up for bid on Craigslist before my escape back to the west. Somewhere on the coast to lose myself in the mist of the Pacific. Reno would never fill my windshield ever again. This dry, grim place will only drift through my mind in the past tense in all of my future thoughts. Reality may make an attempt to moderate such a fierce turn of the wheel as I am a dad to a wonderful and challenging boy of nearly 11 years. He may want to stay here for friends and familiarity...or Texas may be a better option for him at that point, which is a place I say now that I cannot live. My best hope for that scenario is that he would go along with me to my lonely place and slide into a new groove with new friends and a completely changed backdrop for life.
Is the end of this winding road a brick wall? I care virtually nothing for the things we have gathered. I need only enough income for food, clothing and a place to fall apart.
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