April 2007


…after one week of struggle, we have internet.  hooray!

now if i could only get the tivo to work….

It’s been quite a week over here.  For one thing, we managed to move without being driven to divorce, which I view as an accomplishment.  We got all our stuff into the new place, and as soon as we buy 3 new bookshelves and a dresser, we’ll actually be able to unpack.  Turns out our old place had a lot of built-in storage (shelves, drawers, etc) and our new place doesn’t.  Who knew? 

But forget moving.  I want to talk about celebrities.  Actually, one celebrity in particular.

I don’t want to brag, you guys, but John Stamos totally checked me out on Saturday. 

It’s true.  He did.  John and I were having dinner at a restaurant with my parents, when about halfway through our meal, the table behind us got up to leave.  “That guy looks familiar,” I thought.  “Do I know him from somewhere?”  I was thinking this when he looked back at me and sort of lifted his chin in greeting.  “Shoot, I must know him!” I thought.  Where do I know him from?

Then it hit me: that’s Uncle Jesse. 

That’s right: Uncle Jesse give me the head nod.  Try to contain your jealousy. 

Chanted while driving from old house to new house in a car borrowed from my mom filled with every single breakable dish, glass, vase, etc we own:

“no crash no crash no crash…”

(There wasn’t.  Thank God for small favors.)

There are two schools of thought on packing for a move:

The Pseudo School: shove all your crap into boxes roughly organized by room, working as quickly as possible to minimize the agony of packing. Throw all the boxes into the truck. Move.

The John School: Pick up each item to be packed. Turn it over lovingly in your hands. Contemplate the best box in which to place it, taking into account the size, shape, weight, and astrological sign of the object in question. Wrap it in foam. Place it in a box. Discuss with Pseudo whether the selected box is the correct choice. Remove it. Place it in a different box. Commend yourself on excellent box selection. Tell Pseudo the object has found its One True Box. Once all objects are in boxes, diagram layout of moving truck to plan where in the truck each piece of furniture and box should go. Diagram layout of new house and plan where each object will find its new home. Attempt to engage Pseudo in a debate about the dimensions of the new house and whether, in her estimation, particular pieces of furniture will fit in particular spaces. Ignore her when she starts to weep in frustration because she is the World’s Worst Estimator. Congratulate yourself on excellent diagramming skills. Debate best box in which to pack said diagram of new house, but decide really it’s better to keep it in your wallet so that it’s at the ready when needed. Move.

So packing’s going well, clearly.

We spent last weekend going to six (six! no joke!) different office supply stores in an effort to buy a filing cabinet that was actually in stock. I had a really long post typed about the anguished process of trying to just buy a freaking filing cabinet, for crying out loud, but it was so boring it made me want to cry, so I’ll spare you. Suffice it to say that after finally getting one, we managed to get rid of about 40 pounds of old papers, which felt like a tremendous accomplishment. At the end of a major filing project, though, all you’re left with is a boring-looking filing cabinet- there’s no obvious external sign of your hard work. It’s kind of a let down.

We move in three days. Wish us luck.

img_0720.jpg If you look carefully, you’ll notice a charming winter scene, viewed from my apartment window.

Trouble is, it was taken this morning. April 10. Well into Spring. What the hell is up with the snow?

The way I feel about winter is sort of the same as the way I feel about law school these days: ready for it to be over. Sure, I have pangs of wistfulness when I think about my friends and all the free time we have to hang out together that’s going to evaporate the instant they hit the law firm. Mostly, though, I’m just done. Done with the reading, done with the lunch talks, done with the administration, just done. Ready to move on.

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To prepare to move on, I looked deep into my soul, evaluated whether I was ever going to open one of my old law school books again, decided that the answer was “definitely not,” packed them up in a box, and sold them to a used law book store. For three years worth of books, most in excellent condition, I got: eighty-five dollars. Yes, folks, that’s right! You too can trade in thousands of dollars of legal textbooks for less than 100 bucks! What a deal! Meh, I was just ready to be rid of them. Because I’m ready to move on, remember?

This toe-tapping, watch-looking, day-counting readiness to go is not a new feeling. Since college I have never done anything for longer than three years. I did a one year fellowship, then a two year program, and now my three years of law school. Each time, as I neared the end, I started itching to go, move on, get to the next chapter. In fact, in law school, I’ve been feeling it since the start of this last year- so maybe my interest maxes out after two years? If I’m honest with myself, I never really enjoyed the ending weeks of anything as much as I should because instead of spending quality time with my friends, writing meaningful messages in yearbooks and taking group photos, I was too preoccupied with what came beyond, where I was heading next, how I was going to fit all my stuff in my car for the drive cross-country to the new job, the new apartment, the new chapter.

This makes me a little nervous because it seems like eventually I should do something for longer than three years. In your twenties it’s kind of accepted that you’ll bounce around to several different things. I don’t think anyone expects anymore that their first job out of college will be the one that they retire from 43 years later. But at some point, shouldn’t I find something that I want to stay at for longer than 2 years? Because I think it’s going to be kind of a problem if I’m 45 and my resume is still cluttered with jobs that didn’t even break the 4 year mark.

Well, I’m not going to find out yet: I’ve taken a 2-year fellowship position at a public interest firm that I absolutely love. So yeah- I found the job I wanted, and it plays beautifully into my two-year attention span. Having a job, finally? One that I’m looking forward to? Only makes that whole “ready to move on” thing worse. So bring on spring, then summer, the bar exam, the works- I’m ready to go.

Posting an ad on craigslist to sell your mattress and the foosball table for which you will have no space in your new condo, you find yourself engaging in all the classic behaviors of a first-time poster on match.com (ahem, not that I know what that’s like, but I have friends! Friends who have online dated!): refreshing the craiglist page for 15 minutes until you confirm that yes, your ad has posted, then refreshing your email every 30 seconds because why has no one offered to buy your incredibly low-priced foosball table already? People! This is a bargain! Get on it!

Subtitle: Because narrative entries are for people who have gotten enough sleep

Days: 3

Nights: 4

Length of RV rented, in feet: 30

States visited: 5

Distance traveled, in miles: 1736

Amount by which we exceeded our travel allotment, in miles: 236

Disagreements won with RV lady about cost of extra miles: 1

Capacity of gas tank, in gallons: 40

Fill ups: 6

Length of drive, in hours (each way): 14

Departure time for drive down (p.m.): 7

Arrival time (a.m.): 9

Number of Starbucks Double Shots consumed by driver who took the 2am-7am shift: 3

Pieces of candy consumed per RV passenger (approx): 54

Beers consumed per RV passenger (approx): 54

Softball games played: 13

Softball games won: 1

Softball games forfeited due to drunkenness, hangover, or inability to read a map: 2

Pedialyte bottles purchased to combat some sort of intestinal pestilence that may or may not have been related to all the beer and DoubleShots, and also the candy and the hot wings: 3

Average sleep per night, in hours: 4

Average reading accomplished per day, in pages: 0

States visited that I had heretofore never seen: 1

Trip: successful.

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