In And Out With The Gross.

Well, we moved off Stanford campus. In honor of a good year, I will post an expose that will blow your mind.

For the past year, I have been doing my laundry in a nearby building. To get there, I have to walk through what I call "The Rapist's Den." I know that's an awful thing to say, but it seriously is a scary place. It's in a secluded, dimly lit basement that is rife with scary possibilities. I've seen some crazy crap there. But actually, I haven't seen any feces, so that's good.

The entrance. May I stress how secluded and dim it is?

You walk down the stairs and you are greeted by a bunch of garbage cans. There is also strips of newspaper stuck to the concrete walls- I'm not sure what's making the strips sticky. Best of all, one time I found several piles of human hair here. It was the scariest moment ever, but also so bizarre that I decided right then and there that I had to tell the world.

You open the door to this.

The first door on your right has a good old  asbestos warning sign. One time, the door was propped open (what about the asbestos???) and this guy sauntered out and yelled, "Booze!" I know that sounds made-up, but I think he was speaking in another language and he just happened to say "booze."

First door on your left has a high voltage warning.

Not to be undone, the next door has voltage AND asbestos issues.

The next door is the trash chute room. It's usually closed, so I thought it was just good luck that the door was open and the garbage was flowing freely on the day I brought my camera.

After the trash room, you have some kind of torture chamber or something.

Finally you reach the end of the hall and you open to a nice normal room with vintage French posters. Stanford, if you can afford nice posters for random rooms, could you please make that hallway not the place where dreams die?

We're settling in to our new place. We moved about 7 miles away, to Redwood City. Thus my title. Redwood City is also kind of a gross place. I've been making fun of it for quite some time, actually. The faint smell of cigarette smoke everywhere you go. The pounding mariachi music. The Vietnamese sex trade. All delightful Redwood City staples.