No sooner did I read Tom’s interesting analysis of his decision to go back to wintel for his laptop needs than I am presented with a low-space dialog regarding this laptop’s internal 70gb drive. Tom notes that from his perspective, Powerbook HDs are not upgradeable. As someone who once performed a hard-drive upgrade on an original iBook, my bet is that upgrades are actually possible, but a giant pain in the neck.

Some research on the subject, for reference. Interestingly, most of this info clearly concerns older Powerbooks.

You know, looking at the postmark on the old Russian stamp and comparing it to the Hungarian one leads me to believe that the stamp must have been postmarked in 1901, possibly in October. THis is because the Russian postmark reads “1 X 07.6” while the Hungarian one reads “68 VII. 1…” and I immediately read it as July, 1968; this was influenced by the fact that the room it was found in was built sometime in 1968, presumably during the summer.

We found the Hungarian stamp first, before we realized that a stamp collector must have lived in the house.

It occurs to me that I could easily find out more about the history of our home, as the house directly behind us was just sold by the only tenant it ever had up to today, and our neighbor spoke to her at some length.

Our contractors gave us a finish date of next Tuesday. Viv and I have finally begun to pack. Alas, the apartment is too messy for me to shoot QTVR panoramas, a fault I will no doubt woe and rue as the century unspools about my feet.

I am excited about the new house, but this apartment is the only place I have ever lived that I truly loved for its’ architecture. It is more or less the exact place I visualized living in as a grown-up when I was a teenager, and it’s just killing me to go.

What’s different about the apartment from the place I imagined?

Well, there’s no sun in the place, at all, year round.

It’s an apartment, not a house, and the upstairs, when rented, is nearly always rented by loud persons with enough money that they tend to be somewhat careless as neighbors.

The walls of the space lack sound insulation, which means we hear much too much of our neighbors’ lives.

The single-pane lead glass leaks heat like a sieve, and the consequence of this and oddball ventilation is a constant battle with mold.

There’s no real fireplace, just a really neat model of one.

The neighborhood is currently subject to urban woes, and is loud and stress-inducing all year ’round.

Still, a year from now, I will miss this place like a dead friend.

Well, I think I found my first Tiger app incompatibility: The Missing Sync. I’ve downloaded the last version 4 update and have a $25 upgrade coupon for 5, so I might just spend the dough.

The interior painting on the house is basically done. That leaves the laying of the new floor, refinishing the old one, and retrimming the rooms. They’ll definitely be done by the end of the month. Looks like renting a sanding suite for the old floors will run about $100 a day; the provisioners both speculated that the sanding should only take a day. Here’s hoping.

On the way up to the house this morning, we drove by a house which we’d looked at in Wallingford, a beat-up but still handsome craftsman. On the median by the sidewalk was a de-footed claw-foot tub, clearly set out for hauling. We pulled into a neighboring drive to ask if we could haul it away, and the new homeowner was happy to let us do so. Viv didn’t think she could lift it with me, so I called a few friends to see if I could borrow them for a few moments. I struck out, but Greg and Stacey were kind enough to loan us their truck.

As it turned out, Viv was able to assist sufficiently that we were able to get it into the truck with no problem. From haunting salvage stores lately, we were well-versed in the going rates for claw-foot tubs, and nothing warms the cockles of my heart more than a good dumpster find.