Never Again

I moved on Sunday and, as I have done the last ten times I've moved, I vowed never to do it again.

It wasn't even that big of a move, or even very far. Fourteen miles isn't bad. A second-floor walk-up isn't bad.

What was bad was the fact that my new apartment is clear at the opposite end of the building from the entrance. I am living in Buttfuck Egypt, and I didn't have a single camel to help carry my books. Family, yes. Beasts of burden, no.

I borrowed a van from work and, with the help of my niece's husband, got it loaded up. Well, almost. I wasn't able to squeeze in my framed Beatles movie posters, a couple hundred DVDs, some bookcases, all of my clothes that are on hangers, or my vacuum.

So I got most of it in one trip. But I digress...

I rented my apartment sight-unseen. There were no two-bedrooms that were empty at the time I was looking, but I was assured that a two-bedroom, two-bath would be opening up by the end of October.

So I looked at an empty one-bedroom to get a feel for where I would be living, and I was pleased with what I saw. I filled out the application and went home to pack.

I learned that I would be able to sign my lease and move in on October 30th. That was great for me, because I didn't want to have to move the following weekend. At precisely one-oh-three I walked into the rental office and signed my lease. A few minutes later I pulled up in front of my building and went inside.

From the building entrance I made a sharp left and entered a door. Up a long, narrow staircase I climbed to a large landing, and entered another door to my left. I walked down a loooooong hallway, noting apartment numbers as I went.

At the end of the hall I reached a pair of fire doors and realized that I hadn't passed my apartment. I went through the doors and made a quick jog to the left, and again to the right.

Finally... my apartment.

I wasn't so bad if I wasn't lugging boxes. But I realized that carrying all of my heavy shit was going to make that walk even longer.

I did get moved in. And I really don't ever want to have to move again.

But I found the laundry room.... on the opposite side of the building.

I'm gonna lose a lot of weight living here.

Cyrano de Bloggerac

I am ghost-writing a friend's blog. He is a bright guy and very funny when he tells me his stories but he can't write for shit.

I think of this as a public service.

What I'm Wearing Today

Somewhat faded Timberland jeans
Tan chunky-ribbed half-zip turtleneck sweater
Work boots

It was cold today, so I couldn't wear my usual cargo shorts & T-shirt...

Viva la Revolucion

Someone recently asked me what I’m most passionate about.

Wow. Did they get an earful.

What I said was, “Ending bias and hatred in this country, and promoting equal rights for everyone. Not ‘special privileges’, not ‘exclusive benefits’; but true equal rights for all Americans regardless of gender, race, religious affiliation, intelligence, financial standing or sexual preference.”

Does that sound hokey? Maybe. And if it does, maybe that's the problem. Maybe we (as a society) have become so desensitized that we don't care about anyone but ourselves anymore.

Ask yourself: "Am I a human being? Do I matter? Am I just as good as the next guy?"

Of course you do. Of course you are. You matter just as much as that rich white Moral-Majority cigar-chewing, robe-wearing pig who's trying to reel you in and shut you up, shut you out and keep you down, and generally put his dusty Tony Lama bootheel on your neck for the rest of your life. And then he wants you to thank him for it.

He wants you to get a boob job but he won't let you get an abortion. He wants you to take the pill or have your tubes tied or otherwise handle the contraceptive responsibility but he won't wear a condom or get a vasectomy. He wants you to clean the house cook his meals and take care of the kids while he sits on his ass in front of the TV but he thinks you should also work full-time outside the house.

He thinks that breast-feeding is something that is to be kept behind a closed door because it "might be offensive," but he's all for the proliferation of topless bars in every community.

He doesn't think you should be allowed to love whomever you want, but he goes out and loves the one he's with and expects his wife to stay silent. He says that you're a freak, a pervert, a sociopath who should be locked up and somehow converted, but he plays with his well-paid freakish, perverted, sociopathic friends on Capitol Hill every damn day. And do you know what they're playing with?

Your life.

He and his pals at the country club believe in equal rights... for them.

And he's sitting squarely on top of a butt-load of revolution. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Things I've Recently Noticed About Myself, Part II

I run hot and cold. Either I'm too shy to talk, or I don't shut up. If you have virgin ears, watch out: once I do start talking, my mouth fucks more than a sailor on leave.

The secret me is killing the me you know.