Deus ex Machina?

There have been times when such extraordinary things happen in our life that Susan and I cannot help but believe in fate, cosmic design or, at the very least, the power of coincidence. Two such events, wonderfully interlinked ones to boot, happened to us on Sunday January 13th and Tuesday February 19th, 2013.

In May last year we decided to try to sell our condo and move towards buying a house. It had been on our minds for a time, and for one reason or another the time seemed right to set the ball rolling towards what would be our final move. Wherever we lived next would be where we would see out our last days, so to this end the house would have to be absolutely perfect for us in every way.

Because of weird financial circumstances too tedious go into here, coupled with a not particularly great experience with our initial realtor, we decided to walk away from what had turned into a very stressful situation, then start again with a carefully selected new realtor when all our financial ducks were in a row. We returned to the situation with renewed vigour after a few weeks, confident that the path of selling and buying would run much smoother this time.

The condo market in Nanaimo at this time is pretty tough. There are a lot of places for sale and prices are on a downward trend. While out there looking at houses - falling in love with a couple, then watching them sell - as a result of our new realtor's proactivity and marketing skills we were getting regular showings of our place. Also, he held eight open houses for us, but after one near-sale with our listing approaching its expiry date, it began to feel like we were not going to sell our place this time around.

On the morning of January 13th we noticed an open house sign for a condo further up our block, so checked it out online. To our dismay the unit was over $5,000 cheaper than ours, albeit, as a ground floor unit, without the lovely mountain views we enjoy. Nonetheless, it instantly felt that in the face of this situation, however lovely our unit is, we were trying to flog a dead horse. We decided to let our listing expire the following week, then give up until the market improved somewhat.

That same evening, at our invitation, our dear friends Paul and Catherine came over for dinner to enjoy a low-key celebration for Catherine's birthday. Like most of our friends they were aware of our real estate frustrations and had remained sympathetic throughout the latter stages of the eight month-long experience. Long story short, an hour or so into the evening Paul and Catherine enquired as to whether we would be interested in selling our condo to them as an investment property! We were, in a word, gobsmacked. Literally as were about to give up, these amazing friends - who had been entertaining various investment options for months - came in to snatch victory for us from the jaws of defeat! After much discussion we came to a verbal agreement to sell our condo to them in a private deal, which would of course also save us thousands of dollars. Not only this, our buyers offered us a situation whereby we could take as long as we wished to find the house of our dreams. It was almost too good to be true, but true and really happening it was!

Over the next couple of weeks we agreed on a price, dates and all that jazz, put our contract in the hands of lawyers, then for the first time in many months began to relax and continue our house search in the knowledge there was no pressure whatsoever on us. We could take the time to find exactly what we needed. By now, we had already seen forty or more houses around the city, but apart from the aforementioned two or three we fell hard for and watched sell, nothing really matched our needs and desires. 

On Monday February 18th, not even a week ago as I type, a new house entered our PCS. (Preferred Client Services is an automatic system delivering details of properties matching our criteria, straight to our inbox).  Susan spotted it first. There was no description or even any images, but Susan called me almost breathless from her workplace, saying, "There's something about this, I don't know what, but it feels to me like a 'pouncer.'" Indeed, it was in the kind of neighbourhood we wished to move to; it had the number of bedrooms we wanted, and plenty of space; it was close to downtown, so I could walk to work. All in all, it definitely appeared appealing enough on paper that we should take a look. As we were already going out to view some houses the following evening, I called our realtor to add it to the tour.

By 10:30 am on Tuesday February 19th, full details and just eleven images of this house had populated the PCS listing. When I saw them, all but losing my mind with excitement at how gorgeous this house looked, I called Susan at work as breathlessly as she had called me at home the day before, telling her to look at the photos as soon as possible. By the time we were collected by our realtor to go see the house as the first on our tour, anticipation was high. And when we walked through it, it would be no exaggeration to say it was an emotional experience for us both. This was it. We had found our perfect house. All it needed was a bit of redecoration in a few rooms, and it would be simply perfect in every way. After viewing two more houses, unable to put this exciting one out of our minds, we decided to not even bother viewing the final two on our list, instead heading to our realtor's office to draw up an offer on the first one, striking while the iron was hot! We knew that if we didn't, the house would sell in a heartbeat.

After a couple of counter-offers and much nail-biting, our offer was accepted and we entered ecstatic realms! However, at this point in this blog post I think it's important to state that, firstly, out of respect for the lady that still owns and lives in the house we wish to buy, it's better I remain vague about certain details of the property and its extraordinary history. Also, although we hope it's simply a case of dotting the i's and crossing the t's, the last pieces of our financing need to slot into place over the coming few days, and because we need to have our house inspection two days from now I do not want to upset the balance of our currently stable universe, jinxing the process by jumping the gun and taking anything for granted. I've done that too many times in my life, only for the situation to turn around and kick me hard in the balls.

Yesterday afternoon we bumped into our friend Carla downtown. Although, for the very reasons above, we had decided not to start telling people en masse about our (potentially) exciting news, we simply couldn't help but spill the beans when running into Carla. Much congratulatory hugging followed, plus our promise that we'd keep her posted. A couple of hours later, when we were back home, Carla's partner Dave called. In a tone of voice implying he was in some state of shock he asked, "Do you know whose house you are buying?" 

I have spent pretty much my entire working life in the music industry. Apart from playing an instrument or being in a band, I've done most everything in the biz: retail, promoting, radio, DJ-ing, band management, A&R, music journalism... and so on and so forth. Music has been, and remains, the principal cultural driving force in my life, and a great deal of good has come of it for me as a result of my passion for the art form. I met Susan because of it, and if that fact alone had been the sole positive result of my life in music, it would quite obviously have been a life well spent. But there's been so much more, in so many ways, that I can hardly quantify the many amazing things that music has brought me. One day I may write a book about it all.

When Dave told me who the house belonged to, my jaw dropped. As I say, I must respect the privacy of the seller by skirting around important details and particular features of the house here - information that may lend too many clues - but as soon as Dave gave me the name it was instantly recognizable as a local musical legend. We'd even seen him play live. This gentleman, who sadly passed in 2010, was a greatly loved and respected singer, songwriter, musician and producer, known throughout Vancouver Island and far beyond, not only for his musical brilliance but also for being a fabulous guy. His widow is now downsizing, so put the house on the market just last Monday.

That's pretty much all I should say about it for now, but upon learning this chills ran down my spine because it genuinely began to feel as if we had somehow been cosmically drawn to this particular house, that it was meant to become ours, because only people like Susan and I, with our deep love for and lifetime involvement in music, should take the house on and somehow protect its legacy. It now feels like an honour to become the new owners of this house, a place that can genuinely be referred to as a site of great musical, and therefore cultural, significance in this city. Our minds our absolutely blown!

Why, when there were no images or even a description, was Susan so keen to see this house? What is it she felt? We'd both been eager to see certain properties before, but even Susan cannot explain her emotions this time. It seems as if the house was a magnet aimed right at us at exactly the right moment. Amazing.

The inspection is on Tuesday and the last subjects are due to be removed on March 4th. Then, and only then, can we crack open the bubbly, so it's fingers crossed that nothing unexpected comes along to derail us and spoil this incredible story. If all goes as hoped, in a future posting I'll reveal all and bring photos of what will then be our new home.

Wish us luck!
        

Colonel Curmudgeon

Wow, there is someone even more curmudgeonly than me. And I know him, but at the risk of embarrassing 'Ned Peas' (anagram) I will not name and shame him here. Not that he'd care, I suspect, as he's so proud of his curmudgeonliness he uses "Curmudgeon" as a middle name on his F***book page.

Anyway, the other day he wandered into the store and, without a hello or any other kind of greeting, pronounced, "Hell is other drivers." Then he mumbled at his boots for a moment before following up with, "What a shame it's so difficult to buy guns in Canada."

"Er, why?" I inquired. "Because I'd have killed two people already this morning," he spat, before returning to mumbling at his boots as he shuffled exit-wards. "Have a nice day, 'Ned Peas'!" I shouted after him.

"Mumble, mumble, mumble..."

Jelly

I don't know what it is about the gorgeous Sharon Van Etten's voice that unfailingly turns me to jelly, but it does. And, hands up, I've not had a crush on a "pop star" like this since the days of Debbie Harry, so I guess that's also part of the effect.

So when she tackles one of the most beautiful songs ever written by my main man, Nick Cave - with whom she's soon touring, frustratingly appearing nowhere near here - then I am always going to be in trouble. And so I was when I watched this just minutes after waking up this morning, all confused and ugly with bed-hair. It's an incredible performance.

The Things That Happen # 3

Not that anyone has noticed, I'm sure, but it was way back on June 28, 2011, that the last 'The Things That Happen' post appeared here. It concerned how our visiting friend Nik did himself extraordinary digital mischief when simply having a scratch on the way home from a lacrosse game. As you do. This one, however, reports something equally ridiculous that happened to me, today.

Over the last few days there has been a noticeable fly infestation in the downtown music store I work at. While the invasion has not reached the level of an unmanageable swarm requiring a napalm solution, enough of the little bastards have appeared to cause extreme irritation and distraction, not to mention concerned/bemused reactions from customers as ignore them to tear around the store after flies with various weapons in hand, intent on bludgeoning the winged horrors into the middle of next week.

Our boss is guessing that the source of and life's focus for this filthy squadron is "something rotting upstairs." A while back a rancid stench hung over a small section of our store, and an investigation by a pest expert revealed the likelihood of a decomposing mouse somewhere in the walls. We just had to mask the odour as best we could and grind it out until it finally dissipated. (I couldn't give a toss if I never smell Febreze again.) This time there is no such smell, so we think there must be something yukky turning to goo in the only elsewhere that exists in our building - the landlord's offices upstairs. The landlord has been on vacation for weeks, but it seems flies have moved in en masse to feast on whatever foodstuffs he presumably accidentally left discarded before getting on the plane. Or maybe a rodent or other creature has found its way in and bitten the big one, to the fly population of Nanaimo's utter delight. As I say, it's all guesswork.

Anyway, we've been swatting these chunky little mofos at every opportunity, and one such perfect chance came late in the afternoon when a fly landed on top of the till. Steve, behind the counter, and I, in front of it, saw it land at exactly the same time. Steve's eyes lit up as he stealthily reached for the nearest weapon - a CD. I stood perfectly still so as not to disturb the fly or give the game away. With blinding speed and murderous intent, Steve anticipated the fly's escape flight path with precision, smashing it to bits. I saw it literally disintegrate and felt great satisfaction at the total destruction of this fearsome enemy. It was all over in the blink of an eye. Then Steve started laughing so hard I thought within moments he might well puke.

The reason? The fly had exploded with such force that, William Wallace-like, its remains had been scattered towards the four corners of the kingdom (read: 'record shop')... and some of it had ended up in my beard. So, there I was, euphoric from victory as I brushed blobs of fly guts, fragments of fly thorax, and chunks of fly exoskeleton from my beard. As you do.

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream...

...or have a horrible nightmare!

I woke myself and Susan up at some ungodly hour before dawn today by yelling out, "Fuck off, you nosy bastards!" Moments before, while deep in some R.E.M. state, three of the Sandman's creepy friends had been staring at me through a slot in the bedroom wall. Two of them were wearing 1970s sunglasses, all three had moustaches, and one was holding a poker.

"Uh, wha...uh?" Susan spluttered as she stirred, so I explained the predicament I'd been in. "Oh," she responded. "I was busy stripping the meat off some computers."

Then, without another word, we put our heads down and again went off to visit the Land of Nod.

The Christmas Card

                                                   HAPPY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

Unrelated PS: It would appear that the uploader of the video I embedded into the Imbeciles blog post has removed it. Not that it matters, all it showed was a parade of buffoons pouring milk over themselves in public places. Yeah, truly hilarious. Enjoy the above video instead, which actually is hilarious. 

One Two-One Two-One Two

12:12:12: my birthday. Happy Birthday to me. I was awoken by Reggie licking my beard and had Multigrain Cheerios for breakfast. It appears to have stopped raining. It's extremely quiet out there. Is nobody out of bed yet? This is the day after Ravi Shankar died and Rush were finally inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. About time. Donna Summer and a bunch of others were as well, but I think it was a sympathy vote as far as Donna's concerned. She'd have been nothing without Giorgio Moroder. This is also the day after North Korea launched another rocket, the Axis of Evil power setting the world on edge once more. It's quite chilly this morning. I cannot go one single day without reading the word 'Facebook' somewhere (most usually everywhere), and there it is again on the BBC website: 'Police in Global Facebook Arrests.' I didn't bother reading the story. I just hate F***book. There's another story on the site about the Pope starting to Tweet (as @pontifex). Lord, give me strength. I seem to have the makings of a cold. My nose continues to tingle, but the doc doesn't know what it is. I have to work with Neil today. Always a thrill, you know? There is not a single Happy Birthday message from England (or anywhere else) in my inbox. Bad mood already. I never forget people's birthdays. Ever. Do people not use calendars anymore, or put stuff like that in their 'devices'? Ugh...devices. I hate them. Technology news on 12-12-12: 'Phone has second e-paper screen.' What does that even mean? Ugh. I hate technology. I'll check my music blogs after I've done this; it's what I do every morning, so why change my habits because the date is weird? Susan invented a new composite word recently: 'glumpy.' That's how I feel today. Thus far, having been up 20 minutes, it seems she too has forgotten my birthday. Reggie's spreading his breakfast all over the kitchen as usual. If I hear the words 'Twitter,' 'tweet' or 'retweet' even once today, I think I might scream. Or worse. Until I get out there I have no idea what's happening locally, as the Nanaimo Daily News website seems to be updated when someone feels like it, rather than when news actually happens. Oh, the ways of island life. It is the 88th day of the NHL lockout and, like millions of hockey fans, I am both angry and not caring if I ever see a game again. The warring sides meet again today. On my birthday. Do the few followers of this blog actually read this crap? Probably not. Happy Birthday, Captain Curmudgeon.