August 2004

There was no way of knowing I’d miss Dia like I did. I don’t usually miss people when I know I’ll see them again at some point (which in this case, Dia’s visa problems notwithstanding, I knew I would) and I haven’t been homesick as long as I can remember. I’m usually too busy to think about what’s not in front of me.

This time was different. There were minutes and even hours at a time when I missed Dia. Then she’d sign online and I’d grow resentful at being tied to the stiflingly hot office for our conversations. But there were those precious times when I simply had no one to talk to.

I felt utterly alone when I got out of my interview in Chambersburg and almost went out of my mind when I wanted to discuss Csoki’s problems with someone. Certain friends are good to have in some of these situations, but I’ve grown dependent on having Dia as my heart-to-heart catch-all. I must really love her or something.

So she comes home today. If it weren’t for my interview tomorrow and our rafting trip from Thursday on, I’d have been able to pick her up at the airport. Instead, the task fell to Lara and I’ll be stuck here at work barely able to contain myself between 3:40 and 5:00 p.m. I know she’ll find fault with a dirty house or lack of food, but she’ll hopefully read the refrigerator magnets that I arranged yesterday and know how much I missed her.

My ill-fitting suit and I schlepped our way past Harrisburg for an interview yesterday. It was five hour round trip — no doubt about it. I had hoped to shave off a bunch of time by driving 90 mph on the turnpike, but traffic killed that plan.

The interview, with a small Gannett newspaper with a circulation of 20,000, went well I thought. The managing editor seemed very nice and took me to lunch in her Honda Element. I was so nervous about our chit-chat that I forgot to open the door for her on the way into the sandwich shop, but I made sure to get the door on the way back to hopefully erase any negative memories. I definitely made a good impression with the design editor who sat down with me, detailed the position and answered my questions. The only question was whether it was enough to get an offer.

By the time I got home I was wiped out yet still found the energy for laundry and Grade A litter box duty. All I can think about now is what it could be like moving to a small town closer to Baltimore than Philadelphia, and for not much money. The position is something I’m excited about though, the type of job that I could spend every day doing for a long, long time. Working for a newspaper is something I desperately want to try on a professional level, and this is the best shot I’ve had so far.

I hate our cats sometimes, mostly when then leave a pile of turds in the middle of my bed. There was one good side and it was that I was able to find the urine puddle on another part of the bed once I took off the sheets. I might not have noticed anything was up before jumping into bed if it were just the pee, but there was no chance of that happening with the stench of feces about the room.

I was so frustrated at 2 a.m. that I just bundled up the sheets, mattress pad, and pillowcases and threw them in the trash, rolled the sleeping bag into a ball in the corner, and soaked the mattress in Febreeze and pet odor carpet cleaner before flipping the mattress over 10 seconds later. I’m sure it’ll probably get moldy or something, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. We’ve flipped the damn thing over a dozen times now and it’s high time for a new one anyway.

While I was walking outside to ditch the bed linens, I had a split-second vision of finding Csoki in the house and putting her outside as punishment. Watching her get hit by a car or starving to death might sound sad at first but could be the best for everyone in the long run, not to mention immediately satisfying.

Yesterday I started up a newspaper. Dia and I had our first unofficial meeting/proofreading session at 11:15 and we went to press 20 minutes later. The first issue of The Cover Letter hits the desk of the first potential employer later this week.

It’s an idea I came up with three years ago after I graduated the first time. I sent it to five or six places before it landed me an interview with The Metro, a unpaid internship that I should have taken. At the time I was determined to find a paying gig and turned my nose up at what could have been a real inside track to newspapering. With any luck, this new edition of my newspaper cover letter will turn the right heads again.

Before toying with Quark for a few hours, I spent my day watching a lot of television, e-mailing a few normal applications to other jobs, learning how to play Go better, jogging two miles to the grocery store, walking back, and cooking dinner for Dia and myself. I don’t feel like the day was terribly productive even though I applied to jobs. I think I need the concrete results that come from completing projects other than job applications. Then again, I do have my fake newspaper up and running again so maybe I shouldn’t be too hard on myself.

I’ve put off the legend of The Great July 31 Move long enough. So long, in fact, that I’ll probably gloss over any details that would save this story from being anticlimactic.

I sent out an email to friends who I had helped in a similar capacity and all the strongarm types as well. With a lineup of 10-14 depending on girlfriends and misguided plans to have a U-Haul truck by 10 a.m., I sent out an email with the details: Load for two hours, drive for one, and unload for two more. I had been boasting about pulling off the smoothest move in history since I had spent the entire month packing and assembled a small army to load the largest truck available. With Dia orchestrating the inside maneuvers while I focused on directing the lifting team and packing the truck, I thought we’d be all set. We even transported the cats and some “delicables” the previous night to get them out of the way.

That was before my luck with U-Haul ran out. They didn’t call the night before to tell me where I could pick up my truck. As repeated calls the following morning finally showed, I didn’t get a call because they didn’t have the equimpent they promised me even though I requested it a month in advance. U-Haul has a shitty utilitarian way of doing things; early reservations don’t get preference over requests made the previous day and they can only assign trucks as the one-way rentals come into the area. Time slots come into play on for for in-town moves. (What I now know is that to get a U-Haul for a one-day one-way move, I simply have to schedule my reservation for the day before. I’ll get my truck in the evening, but I won’t be screwed because I’ll still have the entire following day to return it.)

After spending two frustrating hours on the phone, I found a sympathetic Budget rental lady who had a truck available. Speaking with her was a such a contrast to my conversations with U-Haul; she apologized that it would take a while — a whopping 15 minutes — before she could get back to me with an answer, and even offered to cut the base rate in half if I had the truck back to her by 3 p.m. That was the first obstacle, my rental wouldn’t be a one-way; the second was that I’d have to settle for the only truck available, a 15-foot truck instead of 24. (In the end, the in-town rental even with the extra mileage turned out to be the same price as a U-Haul one-way.)

So with my truck secured by 9 a.m. we were ready to roll. Sean had spent the night before at our place, so with the extra pair of hands I started loading right away while Dia started tying up the loose ends. One by one people started arriving and we eventually fit everything in the truck, six car trunks, and the Element.

From the start, I packed with the knowledge that whatever didn’t fit wasn’t coming along and there wasn’t an inch of wiggle room in the first third of the truck where we stacked the majority of the boxes. I started to lose my focus when it came to fitting the larger pieces of furniture onto the truck, instead of packing it as tightly as possible I started to rush it. There was a lot of naysaying about whether it would all fit in one trip and I lost my patience once or twice — dragging the Arkanoid machine down the outside steps by myself and lecturing Pat on the theory of spacial relations come to mind — but I think I suprised everyone with my ability to squeeze things in. Also, it helped that I had extra space outside the truck, we simply tossed the remaining odds and ends into any car that had available space. I did have to toss a lot of stuff I had hoped would make the move so I could decide its fate later, among which were the plastic orange couch I rescued from Myers Hall and some shelfs I got from Dave that were falling apart but could have been fixed with a little patience. But dammit, one trip it was.

With everything strapped in we took off, leaving the Element for Dia who was still cleaning the joint. The drive should have taken only 35 minutes or so, driving 85-90 mph on the turnpike tends to do that. It took a lot longer thanks to an accident only three miles from the new place. There were firemen directing traffic onto a side street with no detour in place, but after driving around for five minutes I called Dave and he navigated me in.

The unload went pretty smoothly. The latecomers were the driving force for this half of the move. Most were already starting to fade and initially balked at the idea of having to put items on various floors in the new place. Besides not liking the idea of having to carry the furniture up two flights of stairs with Dia, there wasn’t enough space to put everything on the first floor. The couch alone — for which we had to take off the front door — takes up half the living room.

With the boxes in the house and somewhat sorted into rooms, and the furniture all in its final location, we headed out for the Thank-You dinner at Bahama Breeze. Tim had left half an hour earlier to return the truck and meet up with Dia, and they met us at the restaurant a little while later. Everyone ate, drank and was merry over the fact that the move was over and went pretty smoothly. I was just doing my best not to think about all the unpacking I had left to do.

Well, here we are…. We’ve settled in well enough to have a housewarming party/game night last night. The bedroom needs some minor tidying, and there are still some boxes in the office but they’re out of the way and contain knick-knacks and storage items. As of yesterday the entire first floor is completely squared away, home to only the normal day-to-day messes. Now that I’m working only part-time it’s only a matter of time before the office is immaculate and I can start tying up the loose ends on a bunch of projects. Essentially, the move is over and I can begin to actually live here.

When trading shots with coworkers, I find phrases that start with “Tell your wife…” are the best route. No one is even remotely offended by mom jokes anymore, unless they’re either foreign or have some strange hang-up. Wifey remarks are gold, however. The best part is that I know if someone’s married, whereas you never know who doesn’t have a mother anymore. There’s no worse way to lose a battle of insults than to a “My mom’s dead, asshole.”

The New Deck is a great bar, with free peanuts and a dependable game of quizo, but it’s always fun to try something new. That’s where The Bayou came in Wednesday.

With $1 drinks from 9:30-11 p.m., $500 in prizes and a pizza for round winners, and 12 people permitted per team, there was little to be disappointed about. There were still four rounds, but each round was themed: General, Philadelphia, Movie Quotes, and Sex & The City. We earned a pizza in the second round, and I think I may have made my first trivia contribution ever with the correct spelling of “Schuylkill”. I’m sure other people knew it too, but I knew it drunk and was able to defend it against people who thought I got an L mixed up here or there. Kim also won two tickets to see John Mayer in concert, whose name I remembered having seen on my XM receiver before quickly changing the station.

Trying a new place always helps sway people to come out too. Weekly quizo at boring old New Deck? Pshaw. But add a fancy twist like “new place” when you spread the word and it’s gold. My only complaints about the Bayou were that it started late and the whole thing was shamlessly self-promotional. I cared little about the other events they were planning or the fact that our pictures would be on their Web site. The place is also small, so hat we not had people arrive early to score a table we would have been screwed.

I say we continue switching it up as far as venues are concerned. Even though there was no Best Team Name prize, variety is the spice of life.

My boss just officially asked me to consider staying on for a while longer and even if I wanted to reconsider entirely my decision to resign. I expected the request, but I was surprised by how good of a negotiator he is.

From my standpoint, my life has been put on hold these past two weeks. The two hours I spend commuting on top of the full day at work leaves me with barely enough time to get to the gym, barely enough energy to do anything around the house, and no large amount of either to look for a new job. As long as I stay working full time I know I’ll never find the impetus to move on with my life. I’m here because I’m a good guy and didn’t want to leave my future former employer in a bind; it would also ensure I could list my boss as a reference when looking for other jobs, as if five weeks notice wasn’t already enough.

My boss’s standpoint, as I see it, is that I’m a valuable asset and it’s a shame to see me go. I’m more than capable of doing not only the grunt work I’ve become so adept at, but also solving the minor crises that I can’t prepare my replacement to solve. I’ve technically completed his training and he’s ready to fill my shoes, but the department is growing so having another person around can’t hurt a bit.

I had previously stated (not to anyone here, only to my friends) that my demands for staying on were a four hour workday and $75 a week for commuting expenses. Joe is smooth, though. In making his pitch he said I could think about it and get back to him about what kind of schedule I could commit to if I decided to stay longer — perhaps even take a week off first. The thing that stuck most in my mind was the way he said so nonchalantly, “We’re all set to go, but if you feel like you want to work a few more weeks we’d be more than happy to keep you on.” He made it sound like they didn’t need me to stick around, which I thought would be the case.

Joe either doesn’t know the difficult position the department will be in when I’m gone or he hides it really well. My original demands would have been easy to make if he told me what a lurch he was in; now, I have to review my financial situation and build up some courage before I make my request.

The main question is Do I agree to stay on for half days or partial weeks if I don’t get a commuting stipend? With it, I’d agree to part-time status in a heartbeat. Without it, I’d at least have part of my time back to search for other work and still be able to finance it somewhat, but I’d lose half of my paycheck to gas and tolls right off the bat.

…

So, I think I just stumbled onto part of the solution. I’ll give them the “in a heartbeat” scenario and take it from there. What I need to figure out first is a schedule that I think I could stick with and a plan of action if they say the $75 is out of the question.

Rotten Tomatoes has ceased to be a credible place to get a quick look at what’s good and what’s not. Virtually every movie has a good rating right now, including The Manchurian Candidate and I, Robot. I’m sure most of the reviews are at least somewhat accurate and not as clear cut as a rotten/fresh stamp, but with so many indiscriminating reviewers each individual 51 percent rating translates into one more vote for a “certified fresh” seal of approval. What I once touted as a way to avoid having to put faith in a particular critic has lost all credibility. There’s no way of knowing if any of the four movies coming out this weekend are actually any good without reading each individual review, and that brings me right back to the problem RT had solved in the first place.

My other gripe is that with this review love-fest going on, The Village is still classified as rotten. What kind of world do we live in when any M. Night Shyamalan movie gets a worse rating than standard fare like The Bourne Supremecy? Not one in which I feel welcome, that’s for damn sure.

That’s my time — door-to-door baby. Or else it would have been, had I not hit a wall of traffic by not taking my usual shortcut. Tomorrow I’m aiming for a new record with a commute of under an hour. Last night at quizo everyone was saying how their commutes were/are just as bad (if not worse) than mine when I started complaining about how exhausted I am and want only to take a nap when I get to work. I’ll simply change my compaint strategy and discuss miles instead. Over 65 miles each way has these posers beat, hands down. I’m surprised I had enough energy to go to the gym the past two days.

I guess I’m not as helpless as I thought I was. I made it in today driving the Element. I just couldn’t stand not having XM radio again, and it didn’t turn out so bad; my pinky and palm do the trick as far as shifting is concerned. The commute took under an hour and a half — left at 8 a.m. and in by 9:30 — and I can just add five minutes to my departure time each morning until I’m able to roll in right at 10 a.m. By my last day in under two weeks I’ll have the drive timed just right.

I also tried massaging my hand to make the swelling go down and I think it may be working. Some of my wrinkles are coming back and the redness is nearly gone. Of course, the antibiotics probably have a lot to do with it as well.

I feel like a battered housewife. In trying to rescue the cats from a somewhat flooded basement Sunday morning I was bitten repeatedly — mostly on my right hand — and scratched to hell by Csoki Tej. After the first bite, I decided I wasn’t going to let it be for naught and made damn sure that cat was released only after I made it up the stairs. As a result I won the battle but lost the war; when I stopped to look at my hand it was a bloody mess. In addition, cats apparently have lots of bacteria in their saliva which equates to a bite poisonous enough that soap, water and even hydrogen peroxide didn’t prevent my hand from getting infected. I went to bed last night with it slightly swollen and woke up with the Hamburger Helper hand.

Not wanting to lose an appendage over something stupid I drove myself to the hospital at 7 a.m. After getting lost for 20 minutes, I made it to the emergency room where the lack of patients allowed me to be admitted straight away. They put me on an antibiotic IV drip for an hour and a half and prescribed some more in pill form for the next week. I hadn’t eaten anything yet so when I made the mistake of looking down at the nurse inserting needle I almost passed out, just as I did when I got my piercing. The worst part is that if I had gone to the ER immediately oral antibiotics would have been enough, according to my nurse.

So, I made it to work an hour and a half late at 11:30. Then the fun really began. Between the IV and a tetanus shot I’ve got two huge bruises on my left hand and shoulder, respectively. My hand itches, typing hurts, and my watch won’t close arount my left wrist. I can barely turn a doorknob. Yesterday I avoided lifting boxes with my hands so now my forearms are bruised and hurt when they touch the edge of the desk. I drove Dia’s car to work because I can’t even shift gears, yet even turning the key and the steering wheel is a lesson in pain.

I suffer from other injuries which aren’t due to my bout with Csoki, too. A folding table fell onto my left shoulder after I held the basement door for Tim. My knee is clicking with pain from running first at the gym Thursday and then up and down stairs all weekend. And various parts of my body cramp up from moving everything Dia and I own this weekend, which I’ll get into at another time.

So in addition to my everyday injuries it’s going to take at least two days for the swelling to go down in my wrist and hand and my right forefinger isn’t warm or feel like a Vienna sausage. Therefore I don’t forsee myself doing much of anything for the next few days, let alone working out or moving any more furniture around.