Category Archives: Memphis

Red means…

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Having worked in DC, I was convinced that I had dealt with the worst drivers that could possibly be thrown at me. That was before I started coming to Tennessee on a regular basis. In DC, every driver is in a hurry to get somewhere and drivers tend to be aggressive, but reasonably aware of their surroundings. That is to say, they are able to see a slot opening up in bumper to bumper traffic before it even happens… and they are able to maneuver their car to that spot with a minimum of fuss… usually. At the bare minimum, you can always count on the DC driver to do what seems to be in his or her best interest. I’m not convinced these people actually know what their tactical driving self-interest actually is.

Tennessee drivers, as a group, tend to drive fast (not well, mind you, just fast) and have a complete disregard for electronic traffic control signals. That is to say that red lights are viewed as some kind of suggestion. Of course the typical DC driver also runs a red light from time to time, but usually it is maybe one person who was a little late getting through the yellow. Here, it seems that it’s three or four cars running the red at every turn lane. I’m not saying they’re morons, just that they seem to suck at something that most people learn to do in their mid teens. I could make a comment about ignorant hicks, but that would be rude… and given my own roots, I think it best to refrain.

There should be some kind of test people have to pass before they are allowed to drive… oh… yeah. Shit.

Getting there…

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I’m please to report that everything here seems to be coming together. Most of the boxes are unpacked now and rooms are starting to take on something approaching the way I’d like them to look. Of course there are still the details to handle; the pictures to hang, the boxes of trinkets to place, figuring out how the hell to cover the ridiculously oversized window in the dining room.

What I’ve noticed is that trips to Home Depot take on a new significance now. Around every corner is something to drool over. While I have always delighted in the utilitarian excess of places like Home Depot, I never got a special tingle going there when I was living in the apartment.

I’m going to try uploading some new pictures in the near future so I can prove that I’m actually making progress down here. I don’t think Memphis will ever be “home,” but it definitely feels better now that there’s more here than me and an air mattress.

New Place…

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OK folks, first, please let me apologize for not staying as current with posting as I would like. As almost everyone knows, I’ve been spending the better part of my life working here in Memphis. While nothing is official and probably won’t be for some time yet, it seems more and more likely to me that this is where I am going to end up when everything at work shakes out. With that in mind, I’ve decided to climb my ass way out on a limb and make an offer on a house down here. To make a long story short, everything is squared away and I should be going to closing before the end of the month.

It’s not the old house that I thought I wanted, but that tiny little rational part of my brain reminded me that at some point I was going to have to sell this place and newer construction will probably sell faster when the time comes. So, with that in mind, after the first of the year, I’ll be the proud owner of a tract house in a new subdivision of Memphis.

There’s something not entirely right about buying a house where you aren’t positive you’ll even be there in six months. It sounds crazy, but you’ll have to trust me that it’s not as far out in left field as you’re probably thinking it is. It’s definitely more of a chance than I’m generally willing to take on things, but I figure nothing ventured, nothing gained. Worst case scenario I have a place to live for a few months while I’m here.

I’ll keep y’all posted, but beg your understanding that the updates won’t be as frequent for the next few weeks.

This old house… again…

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I don’t know what it is that makes me stand in the center hall of an turn-of-the-century house, knowing the back third of the foundation is currently being held up by jacks, that the back porch is quite literally in danger of falling off, and that the entire second floor joist system needs reinforced, and think… I can fix this.

Sure, the place has 16 foot ceilings on both floors, bedrooms that have more square footage than my apartment, and a room downstairs that screams to have floor-to-ceiling book shelves installed, but it also has a bathroom in what should be the butler’s pantry, walls where doors should be, and a kitchen upstairs in what, apparently was once an apartment…. And then there is the location… on the old maple-lined main street, in a neighborhood that has been placed on the National Register, a block from the town square and it’s hundred and fifty year old courthouse.

The asking price is low, in part because of the work that needs done… not quite a gut-job, but close (kitchen, bathrooms, several walls, etc. need go, second floor needs to be reinforced)… but also because the old lady who now owns the place wants to sell to someone who will bring her childhood home back in line with the rest of the neighborhood. The price is low enough, actually, to probably do $100,000 restoration and still be safely inside the margin if I had to resell within a few years.

I know I can bring the fiduciary resources to bear, but can I bring the time and patience to live in a construction zone, with a microwave, hotplate, and “hand shower,” while the contactor guts the electrical, bathrooms, and kitchen, does the structural work, and gets everything to a point where I can do the finish work?

It’s a hell of a project… and could be a hell of a house. Of course I could buy one of the smaller places in the same neighborhood that have already had the heavy lifting done. They wouldn’t quite be in the same “prominent” place in town, but still in the historic district… and more or less ready to move in.

The handwriting is pretty much on the wall that I will be moving here in the next six months and I think I have settled in on an area that could easily be home. Now I just need to stop looking at home improvement pornography and figure out what I can realistically accomplish.

Lust in my heart…

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Again. Being with me on a Saturday morning down here is a bit like being on a grail quest. I’ve convinced myself that the perfect old house is out there, somewhere, taunting me just over the horizon with it’s agonizingly French accent. It takes a leap of faith to make an offer on a house. Making an offer on a house in a state when I don’t yet technically have a job is more like taking a header into the Gorge of Eternal Peril. Yet somehow I think it’s what I am about to do.

This house was the second of three I visited today and was the only one that was ever really in the running. I could go into several long diatribes about the evil things people do to old houses, but that will wait for another night.

Suffice to say that the pictures don’t come close to doing justice to this place. At 106 years old, she was built when Victoria sat the throne of the British Empire and William McKinley was President of the United States, gutted in the last five years with all major electrical, plumbing, and mechanical systems replaced, 2000 square feet put under fresh roof, floors refinished, original trim restored… and for sale at the asking price of $135,000 in a sleepy Southern town of 10,000 (more on the town will follow).

I’m plotting and planning… with a healthy dose of self-doubt and second guessing… the path that wends its way through giving up my seldom visited apartment, moving a substantial amount of “stuff” into dad’s basement and setting up temporary quarters in his guest room to use when I’m required to be in Washington, and finally arrives at buying a house in commuting distance of a job I might actually be assigned to three months from now.

It all sounds perfectly mad and if I weren’t living it, I would probably think I had finally gone ‘round the bend. I’ve had incredible luck with finding places to hang my hat in the past…. Sweet Jesus, I hope it holds for one more round.

You can’t see it, but I’m knocking on wood out here, folks. 😉

Full disclosure…

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In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that finding a virtually original craftsman house in Memphis is a little like looking for a surrender in the French national archives… they’re so thick you can’t help but trip over them. Now that I’ve had a few days to restore my objectivity, I can say with relative certainty that I’m not going to rush out next week and make an offer on a house that happens to be 900 miles from where I actually live. I’m making great strides in curbing my tendencies towards impulse buying.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this place is absolutely beautiful. The garage needs rebuilt, a back deck that is completely out of character needs to be pulled off, and there is a profound need to install a central air system. Though I can’t be sure, I suspect that the electrical system would probably need to be completely rewired to provide the sort of juice I would require. It’s not an insignificant amount of work to a house that is otherwise in grand condition. The thought of pulling down a ceiling and expanding a master suite into the dormered attic has already hit me as well. A rough order of magnitude on the work I would want to do approaches another $50K on top of the purchase price and as much as I like to think I’m qualified to do everything, I know the reality is different.

Lots of things to consider… not the least of which is whether I want to roll the dice on the chance of my actually moving down there in the next six months. A cursory search tells me that supply currently outstrips demand, but can I overcome love at first sight?