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The Thin Red Line is a war movie with realistic fighting sequences. I was tense for each of its three hours. When I woke up Sunday, I was still creaky.
I didn't want to be creaky. Ron and I were going to visit Joon, see his new house, his nearly-new daughter Hellen, and his new-enough wife SooJeong. Originally, Joon had hoped to hold a housewarming party during my visit, but there had been schedule slippage, so it would just be us.
Thus, Ron steered his car to a new development in the suburb of Bothell. Joon had given out explicit directions, necessary because his street still wasn't on maps. Soon we were pulling up into a curved driveway, getting a peek at the neighbors' back yards--yards consisting of raw dirt. It was winter in a new development, and everyone's garden was still booting.
Ron helped Joon carry a mattress up to the second floor, while I oohed and aahed over bathroom fixtures and bright lighting. Soon Hellen was up and about. We were soon off to the Bellevue Uwajimaya, in which nestled a little Japanese restaurant, where I ate lots of soba to restore the energy I'd put into not helping with the mattress.
Back at the house, we talked about the Geoworks diaspora, played Lord of the Fries, and kept Hellen from destroying much of anything. Joon, from the vantage of a resident in a new housing development, talked about the theory and practice of being a real estate developer. It's very important that a development's property values go up. Thus, if you sold the previous house for $250,000, you must charge more than that for the next house. No matter if it's smaller, doesn't have such a nice view, is built on top of a shipyard's toxic dump site. You must get its price up. Probably you'll improve the property. Build a nice fence, do something nice with the garden. But you will get that price up. That way, you can tell future potential customers that your neighborhood's housing prices are rising, that it's a good investment for them.