Disconnected

Like most folks I've moved several times throughout my lifetime. Since leaving the house that I grew up in back in '97 I've relocated one, two....six times. I imagine that's pretty common in your twenty-somethings. Moving happens. What I'm surprised about are all the little unexpected things, the quirks and charms of both the new place and the process itself.

The act of moving itself went pretty much smoothly. I'd packed up everything well in advance, gotten help from Richard and another friend, and we knocked out the task in just one trip.

I did manage to knock out one more thing: the mailbox. U-Haul trucks, I've discovered, are difficult to maneuver and have absolutely no rear visibility. I attempted to back the vehicle into the driveway (after a fifteen point turn, I might add) and was clued in that I was slightly off-target by a loud cracking noise, followed promptly by a thud. This did delay the unloading process for a couple minutes, while we all stopped to laugh at my impeccable skills.

But don't you worry. I've propped up my fallen comrade, and will give him an appropriate burial this weekend.

Unpacking is progressing nicely. It'll be a while before true order is restored, but I'm starting to reclaim my stuff. The homestead's beginning to take shape and I can picture where everything goes. Boxes are being slowly broken down, the essential items are all out and about, and I can navigate relatively hazard-free.

The only real pain so far has been getting the cable back up and running. About a week prior to the move I'd made arrangements to have all the utilities switched over, cable included. The plan was for a cable guy to turn off service at the apartment, then just flip the switch over here. Simple, right? No so much.

Sometime Saturday night (and again on Sunday) I tried plugging everything in and got nothing but static. I grumbled a little bit, and just focused on the other projects in the house. No cable or internet, but tons of DVDs and enough work to keep me busy. Annoying, but I could deal.

Monday morning I call up the fine folks at Cox Communications and ask them what happened. Customer Service pulls me up in the system and say that everything's done. I explain that the living room's completely dead, and I'm getting antennae quality reception in the bedroom (around six spotty channels, including oddly enough a second non-local ABC station). They can't get anybody out until Wednesday.

Two days later the technician's here, and he pretty quickly finds the problem: the last tenants had satellite and unplugged/rerouted everything. The tech ended up running new cable and rewiring everything (why he didn't just reconnect everything I'm not sure). It took about an hour and a half to wire up the two outlets, but the connection's great and I've got most of my services back.

Except my old account, that is. While I've got internet and HDTV I'm apparently not the same person I was before. At least that's my theory, 'cause they turned off my e-mail. My profile doesn't exist and the server's rejecting my passwords. Since the account's dead so is my web storage space. Hopefully tomorrow I'll get the blog's banner back.

On the bright side, at least I'm not getting bombarded with spam about my penis any longer (pun unintended).

Buried in Boxes

It's odd knowing that my nights in the apartment are numbered. Four nights from now I'll be sleeping in the new place, my first house -- our first home together, Allison and I. While it will be a few weeks before the us part kicks in, it's still great. Not so much the moving part. But the rest, definitely.

The side effect all this is that the current pad is riddled with boxes. The former serenity has been shattered, and it's becoming difficult to cross the apartment without colliding with cardboard. I don't have much stuff, granted, but I don't have much space either. When you utilize drawers, cabinets and closets five-hundred square feet goes a long way. When you don't...

My question is where does all this stuff come from? I'm at the point in the packing that all that's left are odds and ends. The exceptions -- stuff that doesn't belong in any other box. I don't know where half of it came from. Even amongst the stuff I can categorize and sort there's weird stuff.

...when you buy furniture, you tell yourself: that's it, that's the last sofa I'm gonna need. No matter what else happens, I've got that sofa problem handled. I had it all. I had a stereo that was very decent, a wardrobe that was getting very respectable. I was so close to being complete.

I have a turkey baster. Never in my life have I had a need for one. Not once have I gone, "Hmm, I wish I had a turkey baster." It wasn't a gift, I didn't purchase it, it's not stolen. It's just here.

The funny part: it went into a box.