Ciao, Independencia / I Want a Love I Can See

No one is optimistic these days, not in the boundless possibilities of the past, not about that future, not about ourselves. Where are the fights to fight? The thousand little challenges of a life worth living? We're a generation like a car pushed downhill; all spinning wheels, stuck in neutral, a driverless car with nowhere to go.

Five months ago, I wore a tie, tucked in my shirt, and got a $140,000 diploma in front of a couple hundred generally disinterested people. Today, I stood on the roof after scraping paint off a door and drank a two dollar beer because we had no water. My diploma collected dust in a closet six thousand miles away. I scraped that door another hour and tossed the bottle in a box with the others.

I'm optimistic these days, in the potential of tomorrow, in my surroundings, in myself. Why shouldn't I be? After weeks of being stuck in a sixth floor closet, we've relocated to a ramshackle house two blocks (and two worlds) away. Suffice to say, I'm now an intercontinental playboy from the wild west, an all-singing all-dancing cavalcade of scuffed shoes and lowdown blues. Let me take you on a brief tour:

Our colonial staircase, very classy.
The Evita Balcony, where I sip my drinks in the afternoon. Don't cry for me, Lima Peru.The office, with Diego #2 working. My computer is camped here indefinitely.My room. Not pictured: large closet, red door.
Like most bachelors straight out of college, we have a music parlor in our home. The upright piano was surprisingly easy to move. The organ is a new acquisition. Also note the suspiciously Buttery-like kitchen arrangement. As best I know, it is an exact copy of the JE Buttery. Our roof terrace after a BBQ for Canadian Thanksgiving. Not pictured: future steamroom.
Our view from the roof, the huaca across the street. The huaca is a giant pre-Incan temple complex in various states of disrepair. Jeff took the tour and said there are a bunch of mummies in the little holes of the huaca, so it's probably haunted too. Not many Limenos care much about the huaca, which is strange, considering if Cahokia was in the middle of Manhattan, Mick Jagger would probably buy it.
Future site of my room, to be built. ETA: Now.
Also, since I know longer live at the intersection of Chiclayo and Independencia, I had to change the name of my blog to the name of my favorite sandwich. What could go wrong?