Apartment hunting is a difficult science. One must gather data on potential places of residence, hypothesize implications of living there, and attempt to mentally test these hypotheses against predicted experience.

Location, amentites, and other conditions are, at least, generally quantifiable. But alas, there remain highly subjective aspects which must also be weighed—one of the heaviest of which, for me, being the psychological effect of the bathroom.

I cannot suffer a depressing residential bathroom. Nor can I easily define one. I can name several elements that may be present in one, such as old, hard-to-clean, microtile floors, cheap-looking medicine cabinets, and bathtubs that look somehow appropriate for a shooting a murder scene in a crime movie.

I count myself fortunate that such bathrooms have been in a minority so far in my hunt.

And yet, even places which do feature a psychologically-neutral bathroom can still hold a depressing kitchen.

For a week, it’s been sitting next to my laptop, its box in pristine, unpenetrated condition. It was purchased in a moment of passion when I discovered, right at the cash register, that it was available at twenty dollars off retail, and that the price would return to its MSRP stasis the next day.

World of Warcraft.

I had not planned to purchase it until after I began my new full-time job, and in terms of installing and playing it, my plan remains unchanged. Only now, a gravely serious, purple-skinned night elf gazes at me whenever I’m near my desk, reminding me that I’ve already committed.

Azeroth shall have me, for certain. All that separates me from its clutches is time.

Approximately two months ago, I started a blog at the popular, yet convoluted, myspace.com. My first post pondered why I had never previously started a blog, then, upon reflection of the pointlessness and general irrelevance of what I had just typed, I decided I’d just evidenced the answer.

So, today, I start a new blog, with apparently no more a valid purpose than before.