Goodbye, Diablo Blanco!

I told myself I wasn't going to write about this.

Well, screw it. I'm a sentimental sap, just don't tell anybody. Street cred is hard to get in this recession.

For those of you who haven't heard, I'm moving. I'm still going to be in Orlando, so don't worry, this place is too commercial and God-less for me to leave while I'm in my mid-twenties.

I'm headed to the opposite side of town. It's quiet, it's far from the college, and people seem to care just that much less over there. It's perfect for while I'm in my mid-twenties.

What I am leaving is the provincial palace of East Lake and five years worth of life-shaping memories. In those five years, I have unlocked the mystery of life and if you indulge me for a bit I will share it with you at the very end.

It started with indecision and vomit. Doesn't it always? We were indecisive because we weren't really sure if they were going to let us live here--and we had already moved out of our old place. So we staged a sit-in in the front office with our moving truck parked right outside. Hours later we were handed the keys. Civil rights movement, eat your heart out.

There was vomit because, well, we were young and rebellious. That's Romantic. We couldn't keep our liquor down yet. Rest assured, kids, vomit is a badge of honor. If you're throwing up, you're living life to the fullest. Or you might have a bug and should get some antibiotics.

People died here. Well not here. But they were here and now they aren't anymore. We aren't ever going to forget them but I can't help but feel that something goes with them once we leave.

Okay, actually, some people did die here. A guy got shot in the face on my doorstep but I didn't know him so what's the difference? I kid but that story is one of my favorite 'Marcel stories' and if you sit down and have a drink with us one night you are bound to hear it.

In fact, this place really did earn a reputation as sort of dangerous. I took it upon myself to be the 'Diablo Blanco' of East Lake. 'Diablo Blanco' is Spanish for 'white devil'. In East Lake, I was definitely the minority and when we first moved in we all had such devil-may-care attitudes that it was only fitting.

I was determined to bring a swift end to the 'East Side Rapist'. Our place sat right in what I liked to call the 'Bermuda Triangle of Rape'. Last year, this guy was running around to college apartments, and parks, and other shifty places and preying on women. After one of his latest attacks, I parked myself right dead-center of our living room window, at about four in the morning, with a six-pack and a kitchen knife just daring him to try and get my girls.

As for the women that walked these hallowed halls (not a euphemism, I swear) all I can say to you is, "I'm sorry." Just kidding, but seriously, you've shaped this life too. In fact, you've probably shaved years off my life so kudos to you for having such a pronounced affect. The fact of the matter is, if it weren't for the women of the East Lake era, I would still be sleeping on a futon surrounded by a bunch of empty beer cans. So, it's good, you know...not having a futon anymore.

We've all grown up here (mathematically). Marcel spawned here. The rest of us were careful. Just kidding once again. Jackson is the light of our lives and a perfect reason for growing up. I had a bunch of regrets a couple of years ago and thought to myself, "if only I had done things differently". Then I look at Jackson and think to myself, "if any of us had done just ONE thing differently", then Jackson wouldn't exist and I would not trade that for anything in the world. I've never regretted anything since.

I could care less if I lived in a grass hut or a refrigerator box, that stuff is inconsequential. What I care about is the time and the life spent. When I close this door one final time at East Lake, I close with it a lot of things that made me who I am right now. East Lake was just the vessel for which these things were possible.

It's still sad.

And so, it is with a heavy heart and keen eye to the future, that I retire this place to the ages. If I wasn't so sure that it will be bull-dozed in a matter of months after my departure, I would hope it would one day be deemed a historic landmark and a plaque would read simply, "The famous author, Nathan Curtis, spilled seed here for five years".

After all, that's all we're good for.