A quick update to let everyone know that I’m finally getting settled in.
The living room has a place to sit, a working TV, and a lamp.
The bedroom has a bed, a closet with clothes and bedding arranged in some semblence of order, a large DBX subwoofer that is presently being pressed into service as a night table, and a lamp.
The kitchen has food (mostly junk food, of course), dishes (some of which are of the paper or plastic sort for now), and most importantly, the fridge has beer.
The bathroom has a shower curtain, a litter box for the kitties, and toilet paper.
The computer area has a computer and an internet connection.
The sunroom has bird cages with much happier birds in them, and a big milk crate full of bird food and bird treats. The feathered beasties are noisy and restless, still adjusting, but clearly happy and very, very talkative.
Tony finally found the nerve to leave the bedroom yesterday. He’s been out several times since, wandering around and exploring the new apartment. He has a new kitty bed and scratching post.
It’s not quite home yet. In fact, I’m guessing that for me, the word “home” is going to have its whole meaning redefined in the coming months as I try to figure out where life goes from here. I haven’t slept really well. I think this is just because the bed is a bit too firm, but I’ll either adjust to that or put a foam pad on top.
I am living with a totally spastic little kitten, too. “B.B.” is the only son of
Bandit, a very sweet and lovable cat who passed away tragically back in October 2004. He looks just like his dad, and he’s very lovable when he wants to be, but he is also (like his father) a limitless source of energy. Getting him to stop ricocheting off the apartment walls when it’s time for sleep can be a challenge. He attacks feet, especially when they move under the bedcovers in the dark. He attacks hands. He attacks wholly imaginary things.
Finally, I think I’ve found something that will capture his attention. At the pet store yesterday I found a little blue doughnut-shaped* object with a yellow ball inside that rolls around and around. I had a lot of fun smacking the ball and watching it spin, so I guessed that a cat might be similarly amused. I was right … from the time I set it on the floor, he was completely mesmerized**. He played with that thing for HOURS … right up until bedtime when at last, totally exhausted, he plopped down at the foot of the bed and slept. Ah, so he does sleep! For once, so did I.
* The round kind with a hole in the middle. Let’s not go there again.
** Mesmerised, for our UK readers.
The last three days have sure been an ordeal for me. I had hoped this was going to be a very easy process, but fate intervened in a variety of ways.
Friday
I arrived at 8AM at the leasing office to sign final paperwork. That’s when I found out that they don’t open until 9AM. So, I shuffled around on the clubhouse deck for an hour or so.
Signing the paperwork was reasonably trouble-free. There were two utility installers scheduled to show up, and I left word with the office to call me when they arrived. I thought, hey, the apartment’s five minutes away, so each of the two trips I’d have to make would be quick ones.
One called at 2:30 in the middle of a meeting. I flew over, let him in to set up the broadband internet service, raced back to work, and arrived by 3PM. Not bad. The next one called at 4 PM, and when I arrived at the apartment, he still wasn’t there. Apparently he’d called me and then left to pick up some forgotten equipment. I got back to the office at 5:30. I rushed through half an hour of feverish work to try to pick up slack (the day when you have personal issues is always the busiest day at work), then rushed out to pick up my U-Haul rental truck. I then drove it back to the apartment, where I had to be fairly creative to find a place to park it. This was all designed so that I could get an early start the next morning. I loaded my basics from the hotel and a few items from my office. I then discovered a few problems with staying in the apartment … lack of basic supplies, for one. Since my hotel room was still paid through Friday night, I slept there for one final night.
Saturday
Saturday morning was mostly a hurry-up-and-wait day. I got moving early, made all the calls I needed to make, collected remaining small items that needed to move from various other places, fueled the truck, and waited for my friend Nicholas, who would be helping me move. He finally arrived a bit after 2 in the afternoon, at which point I was in a complete panic because the daylight hours were slipping away, cold temperatures were settling over the area, and the winds were picking up. I was still fairly confident, though. Just a few boxes, some furniture, and we’d be on our way. Piece of cake.
When we got to the house, an hour away, I nearly lost my composure. I had not rented a large enough truck. It wouldn’t all fit. I sat down for a few minutes and tried to sort … going through boxes, sorting what I had to keep from what I could part with, the precious from the junk. Then I did lose my composure, and realized I’d better stop. I would pick up an object, a picture, a memento, and in would flood the memories. Things made me think of my mother who recently passed on, of the good times in our marriage, of pets I’ve loved and lost, of younger days when life was simpler and more carefree.
Meanwhile, we were working out of an open garage in a house where the heat was off, it was getting dark, and temperatures were falling rapidly toward freezing. Tony, my beloved old yellow cat, escaped through the open garage door and stubbornly refused to be recaptured. At least the kitten, B.B., had no qualms about being transported cross-country in a big ugly orange truck! We decided we needed to hurry and get them out of the cold. Quickly, we loaded every box and small object into the truck that would fit, and then loaded the bird and cat cages in the remaining space. Since Sammy’s cage is made of 1/4″ steel bar and stands 6 feet tall and three feet square, this was no small feat in itself. The truck was now full, and some furniture and other belongings still remained in the garage. On my already tight budget, this meant that I was going to have to make a second trip tomorrow … an extra day’s rental on the truck, and fifty miles each way at about a dollar a mile. Things were stacking up, but there were few choices.
We locked up the house and left, and I was now very worried about Tony, who was outside with no way back in. He’s not a young cat, and while he loves being outside, it’s the last place he needs to be. Every tiny bump filled me with paranoia as I prayed the birds were OK. I had wrapped their cages in cloth to keep them from getting drafts, and to keep the frenetic activity around them from being too upsetting. They were still unhappy, and let that be known in loud voices.
We got back to the apartment, and managed to get the bird cages up a flight of stairs, hurting my back in the process and nearly dropping Sammy … what a scare. We carried in a few other essentials, and then my help evaporated, promising to come back in the morning. Reluctantly, I put a big padlock on the truck, parked it in the same spot as the night before, and climbed the stairs for the last time that night. I got the birds situated, fed the kitten and arranged a litter box for him, drank half a gallon of water because I’d not had a thing to eat or drink all day, and then collapsed. My first night’s sleep in my new apartment was peaceful, because I was totally exhausted, emotionally as well as physically.
Sunday
Sunday would be no day of rest for me. Sitting in my driveway was a fully-loaded ugly orange U-Haul truck. My back hurt like hell. I took a huge dose of ibuprofen and the pain reduced from crippling to merely excruciating. My first move was to try to find some extra moving help. I tried everything, but on short notice, on a Sunday, my only choice probably would have been itenerant workers. Here in Atlanta, there are said to be hundreds of Mexicans who can’t get regular jobs because their immigration status isn’t legal, and who are always looking for odd jobs and day work. I had no idea where to find them, unfortunately, and neither did anyone I talked to, so that idea fizzled.
Finally, my estranged wife’s brother offered to help. This sounded like a really bad idea, but I was absolutely desperate. This move was getting expensive and time-consuming, and I had to get it finished.
With help arranged, my attention turned to the problem of space. I had vastly underestimated how much accumulated junk I was moving, and it was pretty clear that there was a big deficit between available closet volume and junk volume. With the clock ticking, I decided to rent a storage unit. With a clear goal, I worked quickly and efficiently, and within 30 minutes of having the idea, I had rented a unit, driven the truck there, and was using a dolly and ramp to unload what I could. Yvette showed up a few minutes later with her brother Greg, who turned out to be a former moving man and jumped in quick, making short work of packing the storage unit. We were halfway done when Nicholas arrived at about noon, and within half an hour we’d finished. We took a quick run over to the apartment to unload the things I needed there. The hardest was my TV, a 52″ monstrosity. I’d like to go on record as strongly in favor of legislation requiring any TV over 45 inches to come with its own engine and hoisting apparatus. It took three of us over 20 minutes to get the thing up one flight of stairs. My back got a bit worse.
We piled into the truck at about 1:30 PM to head out for the last load. Well, Greg and I did … Nicholas got a call from his wife and had to go do some things at home. Nonetheless, we made good time and when we arrived, Greg directed the loading, making sure we had things for storage on the tail of the truck, and furniture and other apartment-bound stuff on the nose. We were in and out within an hour, unfortunately still without finding Tony … he was still missing in action, worrying me even more. We got to the storage unit at 4:30 PM, unloaded the stuff quickly, then barreled over to the apartment and unloaded furniture and various other important items.
Greg was a tremendous help, and I could not have made this move without him. He also completely blew all my expectations by being friendly, talkative, and even entertaining for the entire day as he really threw his back into the effort to get me situated. I’d always liked Greg, and he just moved up several more notches with me for not being bitter or even mentioning the problems between his sister and I.
We swept out the truck and returned it, only to find that the U-Haul office, supposedly open until 6 PM, was closed and deserted. I followed the after-hours drop-off instructions, left the keys in the little mail slot, and retrieved my car. I decided to drive Greg back home myself, so I could take one more look for Tony.
When I arrived at the house, Yvette was there and had found Tony. I then realized I’d forgotten the cat carrier. I decided he’d just have to ride in the car. I said goodbye to everyone, settled Tony in in the back seat, and began the one hour drive back to my new place.
Traveling at about 70 MPH on I-285, just after passing the I-75 interchange in Cobb County, I suddenly saw a gray object, almost the same color as the pavement and about six inches in diameter, lying in the roadway ahead. I tried to miss it, but it caught my left front tire. I immediately felt the car sink and heard the “whump-whump-whump” of a bent rim. DAMN!
Looking for a place to pull over, I had to hunt a bit, because there were already six other cars, all pulled over in the same area, all having hit the same object. We were in that wedge-shaped area between the main highway and the on-ramp, which the police call the “gore”. It took me a few minutes to figure out what to do. Tony is an escape artist … if I’d opened the car door, he would have bolted, and then a second later he would have been dead as he tried to cross six lanes of speeding traffic. I had no carrier. Working quickly, I did the only thing I could … I set him in his covered litter box, covered the opening with cardboard from a shoe box, and secured it with my belt and two pieces of perlon parachute cord. I then realized my gloves were still at the apartment, where I’d left them after moving the last of the boxes. So, I got out and began jacking up the car, trying to work with one hand, keeping the other in my pccket, and alternating them when the working hand went numb from the cold. I got the wheel off the ground and was about to start loosening lug nuts when a police officer came by and shocked my by asking, “Can I help?”
I have had many police officers stand over my shoulder and watch as I changed flat tires. Never before has one ever offered to help. When he saw I had no gloves and no flashlight, he just said, “Here, let me”, and made short work of spinning off the lugs, changing the tire, and re-tightening them. It was more like I was helping him! I thanked him profusely, because he probably cut my time on the roadside in half. My only regret is that I didn’t get his name or badge number, because he really should be commended. I will write a letter anyway, and I hope they’ll know who it is from the date, time, and location of the incident.
Tony and I arrived at the apartment at about 9 PM. He immediately went off to go find a bed to hide under, very unhappy at being uprooted. I understand, I think. I really expected that once the move was done and I was finally situated in my new home, I would feel a sense of relief. To my surprise, I felt something entirely different. I was sad, but more than that, I was afraid.
For the last ten years, I have been part of a team. I might not have seemed to my wife to be enough of a team player, but that’s where my heart always was. It was comforting to know that whatever happened, the two of us would somehow tackle it together. Now I’m on my own. I’ve got three birds and two cats who are now my sole responsibility, and they’re counting on me, an overgrown teenage nerd, to keep them safe and sound. Any emergencies are my own to handle, and any calamities are on my hands. I am suddenly, irrationally doubting myself and my ability to keep things together.
The finality of finally having the move completed, removing the last vestiges of my life from hers, also began to sink in. I connected the TV, hoping it would distract me, but it didn’t. Tony remained under the bed, either frightened, angry, disoriented, or some combination of the three. I opened a bottle of 17 year old Bowmore (an islay single malt scotch that is one of the very best) and had a drink, both to celebrate and to calm my nerves. It worked, and I slept, though not at all well. Things hurt.
Today
I awoke this morning and had considerable trouble getting out of bed. My back is far worse now, and in addition I have sore, aching muscles in places where I didn’t previously know I had any muscles. I have moved from my desk only twice today, once to heed nature’s call and once to go settle with the U-Haul people. 2 days’ rental and about 250 miles: $420. Ah well, I would have just spent it on frivolous things like food and gasoline anyway. I can always eat next week.
I think most of the organizing that needs done will wait another day, and I am going to rest tonight, and try to get myself back in the right frame of mind. A talk on the phone with my friend Kirk has helped. He found himself with plenty of time to chat, because he lives in Boston, which as of last night was under forty (40) inches of fresh snow. Drifts have blown as high as the eaves of some single-story buildings. Boston was paralyzed for most of the day yesterday, and the city is still largely shut down today.
As I sit here at my desk I am worrying constantly about Tony. I am sure he’s just upset … he’s never been through a big move before, and I know the new surroundings will be upsetting to an older cat. At the same time, I remember what happened with Bandit … one minute he just seemed a little off, and the next he was gone. If that happened to Tony right now, I think it might break what’s left of my sanity. If he’s not showing some improvement when I get back to the apartment, he’s going to a vet.
Things I have discovered I no longer own and must procure somehow:
* A fork, a spoon, and a knife that does not have a Leatherman tool attached to it.
* A plate
* A bottle opener
* A phone line that will work with my TiVo (maybe that VoIP line wasn’t such a good idea)
* Salt, pepper, or any other condiments
* A Broom
* A Mop
* A tea kettle (I still have my tea pot)
* Any cooking vessels, implements, or tools
In other words, I’m in about the same boat I was in when I moved into my first apartment when I was 19. This is going to be very interesting.
Wish me luck!
| This blog post fulfils the assignment i once consumed cheese at lazyblog.org. You can rate it here. |
This assignment is very silly. The last one had potential, and I really tried to give it a go, but this one is just … well, cheesy. I’m gamely soldiering on, though, mostly to get this off my list so I can move on to better topics. Therefore, by reading this, you are, in a manner of speaking, consuming cheese.
It’s fairly easy to consume cheese without really thinking about it. Simply sitting through an episode of “Laverne & Shirley”, arguably the cheesiest sitcom ever perpetrated on TV viewers, probably counts as consuming cheese. It’s not particularly sharp cheese, either.
With that in mind, let’s move on to the idea of literal cheese. I recently drove a friend’s vehicle from Atlanta to Los Angeles, a trip of about three days’ duration, and during the trip, I snacked on little other than cheese. I am a self-proclaimed cheese nut, and I like all kinds, from pedestrian cheddar to snooty Brie to pungent Asiago and everything in between.
Consuming several pounds of cheese over a period of three days, I full expected some awful, painful sort of gastrointestinal disturbance, but oddly, none came. I felt pretty good, in fact. Maybe I’ll write a diet book entitled “I Once Consumed Cheese — The New Diet Revolution”, by Scott “Diet Author Who Is Not, At This Time, Dead” Johnson.
That’s it, I give up, there’s no way to squeeze anything remotely witty out of this topic. Done. Next?
I am so incensed with my experience this morning with Wells Fargo Financial Acceptance that I am going to share it.
At around 10:00 this morning, I was interrupted in a meeting to take a call. When I picked up, the caller identified herself as a representative of Wells Fargo, the company that is financing my car. Very nicely, I informed the person that I could not talk, and would have to call her back.
To my surprise, she became quite aggressive, saying, “That’s not going to work, Sir, we’re going to have to talk now.” She then proceeded to launch into whatever business she felt needed doing. I attempted to interrupt — politely — TWICE — and then was forced to simply hang up on her in mid-sentence. She left me no choice.
After the meeting, still a little unhappy about this, I called the company back and asked to speak with a supervisor. When supervisor Maria came on the line, she said she had no record of the earlier call, but that she was sorry about the pressure. She said, however, that this was what I could expect in the future anytime my payment is a few days late.
When I informed her of my difficulties (my employer sometimes being late with payroll, my unsettled living arrangements, etc) she was kind enough to suggest that I ought to get my life together, and that I should have found a more reliable company to work for by now. She went on to say that she’d never before heard of an employer being late with payroll, ever.
By this time I was becoming a bit angry, but kept control as she continued to prove herself the most surly, insulting, condescending, disrespectful representative of any company that I’ve ever spoken to in my life thus far. I opined that a late payment did not grant anyone a license to disregard common courtesy, nor to pass judgement on my life. I then asked to speak with HER supervisor.
Apparently, Maria believes herself to be the president of Wells Fargo Financial Acceptance, because she informed me that she has no supervisor, that she is THE supervisor, and that if I wanted to talk to someone higher up than she was, then I could simply go to the Wells Fargo web site and find the numbers for myself.
I did just that, and have dispatched a letter to several higher-ups at the Philadelphia headquarters of Wells Fargo Financial Acceptance. In those letters, I have stated that I will no longer accept any telephone communications from the company until their personnel problems are resolved, and that their representatives are welcome to contact me via e-mail or regular mail in the interim.
Unbelievable.
I read with dismay an article in today’s local newspaper, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. (Since the AJC requires registration to access news stories on their site, I will save you the trouble of using bugmenot.com and reproduce the story at the bottom of this post.)
Basically, the nationwide intenet service provider Earthlink, based here in Atlanta, has decided to let its employees write a series of articles about security and such, and call it a blog.
I got a bit angry about this. I think my e-mail response (the “blog” doesn’t allow comments) says it best.
Dear Sir,
In history, there have been many times when the true meaning of a term has gotten lost in the public hype. The term “hacker” is a great example. It used to be a fairly honorable title, but then in the late 1980s the media began to use it in connection with malicious meddlers and petty criminals. Suddenly, no one wanted to be a hacker anymore. The meaning of the word was forever changed.
You’re doing the same thing to the term “Blog”. Because you work for a company in the internet business, it’s disappointing that you’ve completely failed to understand the meaning of the term, and are now applying it to a collection of support articles on a corporate web site.
The term “blog” is a contraction of the words “Web Log”. A log is a record of events … loosely, a chronicle of one’s daily life, personal thoughts, ramblings, and other miscellaneous output. Some blogs do have a particular topic, but remain the work of one individual, not a corporate entity.
“protectionblog.net” is not a blog. If you want to write some support articles, or an advice column, why not simply call it that rather than misusing the term “blog” in a way that will further destroy (or at least badly blur) it’s existing meaning. Just because a word has some popular appeal does not give anyone license to redefine it to their own end.
If you’d like to educate yourself about what a blog truly is, rather than trying to redefine the term to your own end, you might want to look at some examples. www.simong.org is fairly representative of what a true blog is. Mine is at www.kd4dcy.net/blog also.
Respectfully,
Scott Johnson
Am I overreacting? I really think that I’m not. I haven’t been blogging, or even reading blogs, as often as some have, but in those months I think I’ve come to understand quite well what a blog is. The AJC itself has been guilty of creating public internet forums on certain issues and labeling them “Blogs” … which they also clearly are not. A good blog comes from the heart, or at least from the gut. A corporation has neither of those assets. A blog is personal … public discussions about news stories aren’t.
I really would hate to see the term “Blog” become just one more form of corporate bullshit.
Here’s the story.
EarthLink enters blogging universe
By BILL HUSTED
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Published on: 01/18/05
Atlanta-based EarthLink today joins the growing universe of Web bloggers.
The Internet provider has created a corporate blog, updated regularly by employees on the company’s Web site, to offer tips for dealing with viruses, spyware and computer scams. It’s part of the Atlanta company’s effort to position itself as more user-friendly than rivals on security issues.
“I’m sure there are a few of you reading this, rolling your eyes, thinking, ‘Oh great, here’s just another opportunity for EarthLink to market its products to us,’ ” EarthLink, the blogger, says in one its first online journal entries.
Blogs began as daily — often personal — journals on the Web. But increasingly, companies use blogs, hoping the personal touch will make their messages more believable than ads and news releases.
So when Stephen Currie, a product management director at EarthLink, wrote that blog entry — worrying about an eye-rolling reaction from readers — he was giving voice to the challenge faced by corporate blogs.
Al Ries, an Atlanta-based marketing consultant, rolled his own eyes when he read another entry written by Currie.
“The EarthLink blog looks like it’s headed in exactly the wrong direction,” Ries said. “One sentence sets the tone: ‘We’ve got a great team of folks here at the company, and we’ve made Internet security and protection a priority for our product development.’ ”
He added, “Sure, if a commercial blog is written with some humility and some focus on the receiver of the message rather than the sender, some commercial blogs can be informal, interesting and loaded with helpful information. But history suggests it won’t happen.”
Les Seagraves, chief privacy officer at EarthLink, will be the online publication’s executive editor.
He realizes “it will be difficult to be a pure corporate blog but appear to be objective. I think we’re going to be conscious of not just touting our own products all the time.”
The blog can be reached from the main EarthLink Web page at www.earthlink.net or at www.protectionblog.net.
The idea came from EarthLink’s public relations department because of worries that news was traveling faster on blogs than in conventional media.
Corporate blogs are “definitely a trend,” said Steve Rubel, vice president of client services at New York City-based PR firm CooperKatz & Co. Rubel is a blogger himself. His blog, Micro Persuasion, tracks how blogs are changing public relations.
“The days of the controlled message by corporations are coming to an end,” he said. “But blogs have to be human. They are not a place for corporate-speak or to put up your press releases. That’s not going to work.”