Biweekly Update From Ira's Inter-Temporal Search for Land #3 [Penultimate Ping]

In the words of the great Rubinskidorphenburger - happy birthday to me, I'm out of the South and into the mad land-grab which is home-owning north of the Mason-Dixon, a land-grab where I hope to find the plot where I'll die in peace one day. I realize it's all a bit morbid and that I don't have any disposable income (let alone the hundreds of thousands that are needed post-covid, post-stimulus, post-fact, and post-reality), but it's never too early to start thinking with the end in mind, per Stephen Covey at least. The top three ways that I engaged with the land this last week were: <ol> <li>The park across the street from Goosey's pad which he intuitively kept calling the land: I bused it to Charlotte last Friday to meet up with Goose and Elmo, in a weekend that was replete with bowling, Game of Tacos, tossing on the land, putsing in the pool, and a belt loosening meal at Little Mamas where our waitress spent at least 45 minutes of the three hours that we were there chatting with us about intentions and dreams; we even made a place setting for her and almost got her to sit down with us at one point. I also seduced this guy Eric at the craft brewery who was spilling his guts to me like I was the Dali Lama at a Vipassana after 100 days of silence. The height of the weekend was surely at Mamas when Goose put the napkin over his forearm to pour out the Malbec after Elmo threatened to call his Mom over the proper pronunciation of cavatelli, I felt like a welcomed and honorary Italian for the night. It all made me wonder how far into the woods I truly want to go when I buy my land given the tradeoffs between peace and quiet in the forest eating PBJs that I would inevitably wash down with dubious milk versus the hubbub of city living but dwelling near fine centers of hospitality and love like Little Mamas.</li> <li>Crashing with Linda at the Airbnb: After the analysis-packed and observation-stacked deep delve with my old Stevens Ultimate compatriots, I made my way north to Ithaca, New York - home to Lake Cayuga, Cornell, Ithaca College, and absolutely zero buses to the Adirondacks as it turns out. Linda was a groovy host who invited me to dinner in the back of her place, had mercy on me by not enforcing the no guests rule when Tyler came to my rescue, and offered strong insight into the massive headache which is owning a 150 year old home. She was also supportive of my intercontinental efforts when I mentioned I had a blue-hot date Tuesday. Ithaca itself continues to speak to me with it's pro-Bernie frisbee-loving demographic despite Niel's repeated warnings that during the winter it's like hell-frozen over and I look forward to the next time I'm checking it out, presumably with a car and something closer to a down payment as the financial order of operations might suggest.</li> <li>Making merry with Tyler in the Adirondack lakes and byways: After arriving in Ithaca I began thinking about all the ways that I can get to my parents' shack on Lake Champlain, where I'm celebrating my birthday in the excellent company of my nuclear family plus my Uncle Gene, Aunt Kate, and pal (/Birthright staffer!!) Tyler. It didn't take long to investigate my options East because there are no options East without a car. This wouldn't be as cataclysmic as it was if my license hadn't expired, but it did; all pretty classic sitcom set-ups again for sure. At one point my Mom was offering to drive something on the order of five hours out of her way to have birthday mercy on me and my flawed tour. It all made me wonder if I was a lame unreliable guy who constantly needs to be bailed out by his friends/family or if I'm a cool guy with a supportive and willing network, the inevitable result of 11 years of living as an adult in kindness. Irregardless, something this side or the other of the spirit realm moved Tyler to reach out to see what my north-country plans were just in time for me to come clean that I was pretty much a victim with no hope of passage. Within a couple of hours he booked a car which precipitated a night in the Airbnb together, cleansing our bodies and minds in Lake Tupper, spelunking in the waterfalls, and getting an actual free lunch in Saranac Lake after the guy next to us merely requested that I lick the local tap water... Now we're on the way to my bday dinner in a most adventurous fashion worthy of two fellas who refused to come back to reality after Birthright.</li> </ol> In addition to these aforementioned aforementionables, I had the privilege of hearing about Bob's dating troubles in Ithaca and his unsolicited insight into which beaches I could find the hottest Ithacan women sun-bathing, which was most notable because Bob is blind - it all felt very worthy of Sophocles. Shoutout to the mud pit I literally got stuck in after trying to knees-up-mother-Brown it through the high grass to avoid ticks and baruch Hashem for the epic rain storm he sent after to hose me down (supporting pics among others can be found <a href = "https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1VBCHUJtXHb0CsQBkKnEtJ39-G88hediX" target = "_blank" rel = "noopener">here</a>). Perhaps I violated a fundamental law of the financial order of operations this week but it has all served the order of operations for adventure quite loyally and resulted in what seemed like a most fortuitous meeting of letting go, calling the shot, and looking for land, be it the unreliable-Diogenes side or the nice-guy-on-his-love-conquest side of things. 29 years young, Ira P.S. Bird - I proofread this one like a Daily Post editor after two retractions, good luck to you sir.