The washer in my building is broken. I don't like going into the scary basement to begin with, but free is better than any bright and shiny laundromat I know so I soldier on. Now, however, I'm looking at some weeks (or even months knowing my landlady) before I'll be plunging into the dank subterranean universe. Instead, I'll be hanging out at one of the many 24 hour laundromats in the neighborhood.
A side benefit of this twist in domestic routine is the observation of American pop-culture. Until last night, I had never seen Dancing with the Stars. Apparently I picked a good night to put my feet up on the laundry cart to watch. There was a free style dance, some strip tease that one of the judges said reminded him of watching centerfolds, and a lot of bedazzled costumes. Wow. And then, the grand moment when Kristi Yamaguchi took home the title. I guess that's what its called. Didn't seem to be any money attached to the winning position.
I took the wet clothes home to hang about the apartment. My dining room/office area looks like a garage sale. Soon I'm going to be hanging them on the line on the porch, still a bit too cold for that last night.
1 comment:
Do you remember the scary basement at the Ashland? It smelled like coal from the days of coal furnaces...oh the memories!
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