All dressed up and nowhere to go

Real life isn’t like TV. Either that or real life is just playing a trick on me, but I don’t know anyone whose life is like this: You have two best friends, one of the opposite sex, the other of a different race, and every day after work (if you even go to work), you all meet at the bar or at your house, and you have wacky, hilarious adventures. No, I’m pretty sure no one has ever lived like that at all in the history of anything ever.

Having friends around all the time: what an attractive idea it is. Well, is it really? I guess it depends on the kind of person you are. Society tells us we need to go out and interact with other people if we’re to be worth anything. Maybe they don’t say it outright, but I hear it. I can’t always be like that. I need to be alone sometimes. Sometimes I just don’t want to do anything. I think that’s normal.

I’ve been told, and I guess I believe, that here in my new city, I’ll slowly accumulate a new group of friends. I can see it starting. I’ve done a few things with some guys who graduated from my program at the same time as I did. They all came here to work at Microsoft. Through them I met another guy who also graduated from the same department at the same time. He lives in my apartment complex. We see each other at least twice a week, I’d say, and do fun stuff. He’s the only person I see with any regularity. Well, there’s also my friend Mark, but it’s not quite convenient for us to meet up as often.

People have been asking me if I’ve made any friends at work. I haven’t. I mean, my co-workers are great (well, were great… I’ll have to explain that one later. Oh, screw it, I’ll explain it now. A few weeks ago, I was moved to a different team that needs the help more. All my co-workers are different, and I’m doing different stuff. My job on this team involves working with other teams for a few months at a time. It gives me a chance to get a better idea of the various things that the company does, but it doesn’t do much for my friend-making prospects.), but yeah, there’s that thing I just mentioned. I guess I’m down with the interns, but one of them has already gone back to school.

Work isn’t like school. It’s really easy to make friends in school. You and your classmates are all pretty much coming from the same place, generationally, educationally, and socioculturally speaking. Being at work, it’s like I could be a first grader and everyone else is in sixth or above. That’s what it feels like sometimes (and probably actually was in 1995). To be sure, everyone I’ve worked with has been cool (including my manager), but I wouldn’t want to risk my professional relationships by having an innocent trip to the bar turn into something that would make morning greetings awkward. Hey, It Could Happen.

So, I know some people who work for Microsoft. That’s a start. I’ve gone to a community blog meeting, and I’ve patrolled the neighborhood with old and pseudonymous people, but it’s not enough. I’ve started a mailing list at work for people who live in my neighborhood, but I don’t know what to talk about. (My “Hey, let’s go to a bar,” which I was sure would get others to come out of the woodwork, turned into “Well, okay, I don’t really know what a good place would be… Okay… Tonight? Maybe that’s too short notice… Sometime next week, maybe? Maybe not…?”) Oh yeah, and I don’t have any hobbies… I mean, I wouldn’t really want to meet anyone with the same hobbies as me.

I thought that if I lived downtown, I’d have a lot of fun because there would always be things to do. I actually knew it wouldn’t be that easy, though. I knew I was going to have to force myself to get out there before it could become a normal, fun thing, and I just hoped that that would actually be possible. What I didn’t realize, I guess, is that it’s easier to do these things if you already have a lot of friends.

Don’t think I don’t like the friends I have here. I definitely do, and without them, I’d probably be an emotional wreck or something. It’s just that I don’t yet have as many friends as I’m used to having. Maybe I need to meet my friends’ friends. Maybe I need to—(a pause as I try to gain the composure necessary to utter this word without puking)—network. I hate that word, especially when it comes to making friends, because it’s sleazy and artificial and it has the word “work” in it. Making friends should not be work, but here I am overanalyzing it. Or am I?

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: I’ve been here for three months. I have a few friends. I feel like I could use some more, but I don’t know where to find them. I guess I do have to go out and look for them, although it seems hard. I’m wondering if there’s anything I can do to make that a little easier.

I could have sworn I’ve posted this link already, but I guess not: Literally Unbelievable, a blog featuring stories from satirical news site The Onion as (mis)interpreted by dummies on Facebook. Warning: This may cause you to lose faith in humanity if you haven’t done so already.

The lost year

People have long known me as a guy who plays the guitar and is into music and things like that. For a long time, it’s been a part of who I am.

I’m also a freak when it comes to remembering dates. I got my first guitar ten years ago today, on August 13, 2001. It was a Hohner acoustic that my parents bought for me, almost on a whim, when we were visiting my aunt in Gainesville, Florida. It was a beginner’s guitar—the case cost more than it—but, having started a band with my friends, I practiced a lot and would get three more guitars within the next two years.

I wrote songs, but we never performed them as a group. (I can’t remember exactly why, but I think the others just weren’t interested in playing them. We couldn’t agree on anything. It’s a red flag when five people can’t agree on one of several hundred names.) We broke up, but I kept writing songs.

One year, I backed up my friend in our school’s talent show, and the following year, I wanted to perform one of my own songs with one of my other friends. During our audition, the teacher who was organizing the show interrupted us mid-song. She asked me, the singer, whether I had written it. I said yes. She said I should try singing it in a lower key. Instead, I didn’t come back.

As I entered college, my songwriting output slowed down. No longer was I free to crank up my amps as loud as I pleased. (Mom and Dad, thanks so much.) I was living in dorm rooms with strangers and, later, in an apartment with strangers (for the record, a terrible way to save money). By my junior year, I was playing the guitar maybe once every few weeks, and finally, about a year ago, I stopped. I just had other things to do in the way of schoolwork, and with graduation looming, I knew that I was never going to be a rock star.

Every day for years and years, whenever I’ve heard a good song, I’ve thought about being on stage again and performing it. What if I had played my own song in the talent show? I had dreams of recording an album with my band. What if we had shaped up and actually done that? I’ve asked myself those questions, and I’ve also doubted myself. I do try to sing higher than I’m actually capable of, and my voice is whiny. I’ve never been a virtuoso at the guitar, either. You’d see me play some chords, rarely deviating from a particular rhythm, or maybe a simple solo. I’ve always had some ambition, but never enough to put any of those roadblocks out of the way.

But now that I’m an adult and I have no roommates to annoy (only neighbors), I thought I’d get back into it today, ten years on. To my relief, it was like riding a bicycle. I was just as mediocre as I had ever been.

It’s still my hope someday to record an album. I don’t think I could handle all the starving-artist stuff that goes with really being in a band, but I’d just like to get my best songs out there with the treatment they deserve. I don’t care if I have to eat the costs of producing the album, either. I just want to meet some people who are easy to work with and fun to play with so we can make some great music together. And they’d better not tell me I’m singing too high.

The transition

Whenever I spend time with Kate, I spend five or ten posts writing all about what we did. Not this last time. As you may recall, I only devoted two posts to her visit. In particular, I barely mentioned our last few days together at all, so I’d like to fix that now.

Monday, May 30, was Memorial Day. It was my last day before I was due to start my new job, and Kate and I were still in Olympia. We were due to meet up with the guy who had given us a ride there a few days earlier, so we met him in the Subway parking lot where he had dropped us off. Kate wanted to sit next to me, so I asked the guy if I could sit in the back with her. The thought clearly made him uneasy. He started to explain that he used to be a taxi driver. I understood and took the passenger’s seat so I could chat with him. Whenever I’m traveling with Kate, I make enough small talk for both of us. She doesn’t mind because it’s not really her thing.

He gave us a ride back to my temporary apartment in Seattle, where we hung out for the rest of the day. We decided to order delivery from an Italian restaurant called Primo. It was only down the street, but I was feeling supremely lazy, so delivery it was. The food was really good, so it was worth it. I had pesto gnocchi, and Kate got a pesto chicken sandwich. That’s good stuff.

Tuesday, May 31, was my first day at work. I’ve mentioned how that day was, so I don’t have much to add about it. I met Kate downtown after I got out, and we looked for a place to have dinner. After a fairly exhaustive search, we ended up eating at an excellent place called Petra Mediterranean Bistro. It was a little pricey, it was worth it. The place was quiet and intimate, and the food and the service were great. (The portions were good too; I took Kate’s leftovers with me to work the next day as my lunch.)

Afterwards, we went across the street so Kate could have some coffee. Then we took a walk by the waterfront, and by then, it was getting late. We made it to the Space Needle not long before it closed because our City Pass tickets were about to expire. Unfortunately, this was the only time Kate and I went to the Space Needle, but I’m glad we went at least once. The view at night is beautiful.

After work on Wednesday, June 1, I again met Kate downtown, this time at the Levi’s Store on 6th Avenue. She was going to buy jeans for herself and her friends (they’re much cheaper here than they are in Russia), and the store was having a sale, so it turned out that it would only cost about $5 to get another pair. So, Kate bought a pair for me. We spent a good deal of time making sure that I got the exact style I wanted in the size I needed. I’m loath to try on clothes in a store, but it’s important for something that you’re going to wear a lot. I realized how loose all of my old jeans are. The ones Kate got me are tighter than I’m used to, but it seems like they’re the proper size.

After that, we went back to the apartment, and Kate made a Russian dish called French meat. It’s basically meat, cheese, tomatoes, and pasta. (I’m not sure if that’s the official way to make French meat, as I’d never heard of it before, but that’s how she served it, anyway.) Kate is a talented cook, so it was very nice. She also made banana nut muffins.

Thursday, June 2, was the last day of Kate’s visit. I met her at a restaurant during my lunch break. She had all her bags (it must have taken her forever to walk around with everything), and she was going right to the airport after that. I had decided on an apartment, so while we were waiting for our food, I darted across the street to the apartment complex to start the paperwork, which had to be done that day. I came back in time to get my food, and then it was time to say goodbye to Kate.

I haven’t thought about these days for a while—I guess I thought they weren’t as interesting as the rest of her visit—but I realize now that they were some of my favorites. Of course, any day with Kate is one of my favorite days, and I’m really missing her now as I think back on them. I’m happier than I used to be before I met her, and she genuinely cares about me and makes me a better person. I hope we’ll be able to see each other again soon.

My friend Reid Ewing, whom you may know from TV’s Modern Family, is starring in a new YouTube series called Reid-ing. Check out Episode 1, “It’s Free,” and Episode 2, “Free Fish.” (Watch his South Florida roots show through as he mentions manatees getting hit by boats and calls the aquarium a “seaquarium“).

On the media

In real apartments—outside of college towns—many utilities are not automatically provided, so you have to have them set up (and pay for them) yourself if you want them. Of course, the first thing I thought of when moving in to my own place was Internet access.

I don’t know if I’m just missing something obvious, but there seems to be no easy way to find out which ISPs serve your area. (The National Broadband Map website was inaccessible while I was doing my research.) Based on the information I was able to cobble together, Comcast and Qwest (which I guess is becoming CenturyLink) were the two main choices.

Comcast was the ISP at my temporary apartment, and their service wasn’t terrible, but one time I was having a hard time sending about 4 GiB of my photos and videos to Kate by BitTorrent. Turns out Comcast prevents seeding of torrents whether the content is authorized by the copyright holder or not. That, along with the many, many bad things I’ve heard about them over the years (maybe they were blocking the National Broadband Map too…), drove me into the arms of Qwest.

Well, I won’t say I’m in love with Qwest, but their service has been consistently good. My download speed is nominally 12 Mbps but actually around 10.2 Mbps (exactly as expected—the fine print says that their service may be up to 15% slower than advertised). The upload speed is 768 Kbps, which I guess is relatively slow, but it’s been fine so far.

I’m not known for watching a lot of TV. If I had gone with Comcast, I might have gotten basic cable. But Qwest’s TV offerings consist of reselling DirecTV packages, and I opine that satellite TV blows, so I decided to get an antenna. At first I thought I was being cool and/or subversive by going the old-fashioned route, but I guess it’s more common than I thought. I still think it’s kind of cool, though.

I have this old TV that used to belong to my roommate, so I needed a digital-to-analog converter box. My dad happened to have one unopened in the original box, so he sent it to me. It’s made by Coby, which totally isn’t a rip-off of Sony. The thing works great, though. As for the antenna, I had to do a fair amount of research. Based on my situation—I’m in a high-rise in the middle of a city, with broadcast towers nearby but in different directions—I chose an omnidirectional, unamplified, indoor antenna.

Although it took a bit of searching, they do exist. It turns out that none other than RCA has a whole line of omnidirectional indoor antennas, so it was just a matter of picking out the best unamplified one. That turned out to be the ANT1600, which I ordered from Amazon (full disclosure: I work for Amazon [although the opinions expressed here are mine alone {and I kind of just wanted to brag about it (sorry)}]). Scroll down a bit on the Amazon page, and you’ll see a matrix of features for the whole product line.

Turns out I get a total of 26 channels over the air. Well, actually, 26 subchannels from 10 distinct stations. I’ll just call them channels because they’re all pretty distinct from one another. For example, the local ABC station broadcasts its regular ABC stuff on channel 4.1 and another whole channel called This TV on 4.2. I’m counting them as two here.

Minus the foreign-language, religious, infomercial-only, and duplicate channels (all of which I’ve set my converter box to exclude), I get 14 channels. They include affiliates of ABC, NBC, CBS, PBS, the CW, and Fox, as well as those stations’ secondary feeds (such as This TV) that play old movies, classic TV shows, weather forecasts, and obscure sports. Not bad, considering I only paid $34 one time for the antenna.

The antenna has a discreet, flat design that makes it easy to reorient. Despite the manufacturer’s claims, I do have to move it to get reception of some channels that are farther away or blocked by buildings, but not by too much. I have a direct line of sight to seven of the channels, and I believe I’ve found the sweet spot for getting six others. (Thirteen out of fourteen ain’t bad, especially when the fourteenth is the CW.) All of the broadcast towers are 1-2 miles away from me, except for that of KCPQ (Fox), which is 22 miles away.

So, what’s the effect of all this? I watch a lot more TV than I used to, which is to say, I watch some TV. I guess I want to get my money’s worth from my antenna. And besides, I don’t watch totally vapid stuff. I like Jeopardy!, some of the old movies, and PBS’s history and travel shows. I also watch the local news quite a bit. I’ve found it’s a good way to get acquainted with the area and to find out how to pronounce some of these crazy place names. (Snohomish? Issaquah? Puyallup?)

Speaking of which, today’s link: “If you watch Jeopardy backwards, it’s a show about three people paying alot [sic] of money to get bad answers on [sic] their stupid questions.”

DMV

The very letters strike fear and/or loathing into the hearts of millions: DMV.

Here in Washington, it’s not actually called the Department of Motor Vehicles, but rather the Department of Licensing. The idea is the same, though: wait forever in a long line to be treated rudely by people who don’t care about you and give you a hard time. That’s what people seem to think of, anyway.

There are actually a couple of DOL offices in Seattle, each having its own working hours and offering a different set of services. I wanted to get a plain old ID card, not a driver’s license, and I wanted to do it on the weekend, so I was left having to go to a branch waaaay out at the edge of the city limits. I trekked out there the Saturday before last.

I had never been to that part of the city, and I was surprised by how suburban it was. I was also surprised by how many people were at the DOL, although I shouldn’t have been. The place was pretty large, but it was mostly filled with chairs arranged in rows like the most boring movie theater in the world. I was worried that they wouldn’t call me before they closed. I was there a total of three hours just to get an ID card.

An explanation for those who are looking at me funny: Before I graduated, my friend Andrea was willing to teach me to drive, but I stubbornly refused to take her up on that offer. Now I realize that it was a mistake, or maybe not. I don’t know. I probably should have done it, I guess, although it wouldn’t have made me want to get a car now. I guess I could have taken an exam to get a permit, but I just don’t care.

Anyway, I filled out a couple of forms, answered a few questions (I confirmed that I was a twin [are they worried that identical twins will trade licenses?] and consented to having “Organ Donor” on my ID card [the first time I've had a chance to do so since volunteering with an organ donation awareness group in college]), and then they took my picture and printed a temporary ID card on paper. I thought it was weird because when I got my last ID in Florida, they made the actual card right there and gave it to me. But oh well.

I was sitting down for a late lunch at a restaurant across the street when I realized that my last name had been misspelled. I went back to the DOL just before they were due to close for the day and pointed out my situation. I had to go through the process all over again, but it didn’t take that long since there was hardly anyone left by that point. And fortunately, the picture was better the second time. Also, I returned to the restaurant.

On my way back home from that ordeal, I stopped at the Seattle Central Library to pick up a library card. I had already filled out an application for it online, so that was a quick process. I hadn’t been in the library before, so I hung around for a while to check it out. It looks like a cool place to spend a few hours, but I guess it reflects poorly on me that I was most interested in the DVDs. It didn’t look like they had a lot of them, but maybe I’ll go back and look again.

A few days later, I got my actual state ID card in the mail. It’ll take some getting used to. Every state’s IDs look fake except for your state’s, just like every country’s money looks fake besides yours. (Cue barrage of incredulous comments to the contrary complaining how I’m supposedly xenophobic and unenlightened. Jeez, people.)

And now, a history/geography lesson: The Difference Between the United Kingdom, Great Britain, and England Explained.

Everyday people

Since I’ve been living in Seattle’s Belltown neighborhood, I’ve been reading community blogs like BelltownPeople (a.k.a. Belltown People, belltownpeople) to find out what’s going on around here. Last Wednesday, Jesse and Trina, the people behind the blog, held a meeting for readers, neighborhood residents, and pretty much everybody who wanted to come.

The meeting was held in a basement of a hostel that wasn’t far from my apartment. Nothing could be too far away since this isn’t a huge neighborhood, but it was particularly close. There was free pizza and beer, and I was one of the first people to show. There were plenty of subjects for pre-meeting chatter, such as hobbies (I guess blogging is my main hobby these days since that’s what I talked about).

Eventually, about six or eight people had come, and something like an official meeting began. Jesse wanted to know how BelltownPeople could be improved. If I hadn’t gone to the meeting, I wouldn’t have known that everyone is free to sign up and write posts for the blog, so I volunteered that that aspect should be more prominent on the site. I didn’t even know that the blog had multiple authors, so I suggested that each article have a photo of the author near the byline. Yes, I’m quite often a blog skimmer, and as a joke I was going to insert a nonsense phrase into this sentence to see if anyone would catch it, but I think everyone would and I would never live it down. I am not clever enough to make that work. I mean, you are all too smart.

Anyway, there was also some discussion about the neighborhood, like restaurants closing, sidewalks not getting fixed, and those sorts of things. Jesse also asked each of us to share a Belltown moment we had had. Several people explained why they believe it’s a good place to raise children, pointing out that great places for a day out with kids are in walking distance whereas they would be too far away if you lived in the suburbs. Others compared urban Belltown favorably to the clean, “censored” suburban neighborhoods.

I hadn’t been in the neighborhood long enough to really get a feel for it, so I just explained why I chose to live there. I had been researching neighborhoods near Amazon’s headquarters, and the Walk Score website, first featured in the World of Stuff post of January 23, 2008, indicated that Belltown was the most walkable. From there, I did more research and liked what I saw. (My current address has a Walk Score of 97/100, which is typical for Belltown. My last place had a Walk Score of 5, and the new formula revises it downward to 1.)

Jesse said that as a newcomer, I could provide a unique perspective for BelltownPeople, so he invited me to share my thoughts. I suppose I will once I have enough to write about.

It was good to go out and meet people in the neighborhood. I’m looking forward to the next meeting, not to mention any other opportunities to go out and socialize in a setting that’s not awkward for me. I walk to work; I walk to the grocery store; I hardly have any social outings to walk to. Yet.

Time to answer an Ask Jordon question.

Kate: Do you think it’s worth celebrating Valentine’s Day if you’re in a relationship? Are there people who feel unhappy this day? What about you?

I don’t know whether it’s worth it to celebrate Valentine’s Day; I don’t have enough experience. But in my experience, plenty of people are unhappy are about it. It seems that it’s often because they wish they had a girlfriend or boyfriend and are jealous of people who do. Maybe they’re even the majority, but it’s possible that they’re just the loudest people. I used to be like that, but I haven’t been for the past couple of years.

The BBC reports on a French house that’s recently been opened to the public after just sittin’ around for a hundred years.

Pride parade

Last weekend (not the most recent one, but the one before that… does the English language have a better way to handle this, or are we stuck?) was my first weekend in my new apartment, and that Sunday was a gorgeous day. Best of all, the Space Needle, which I could see quite clearly from my oversized windows, was flying the rainbow flag. Indeed, it was the day of the Seattle Pride Parade, which would be going down my street.

There had been this whole big thing about the owners of the Space Needle wanting $50,000 in exchange for flying the pride flag, and I think some money was collected, but anyway, something happened and they decided to hoist it up. So that was a great thing to see in the morning. I was pondering whether I should watch the parade from my window or from the street when I got a text from my friend Mark. He said he was at my apartment building visiting other people and invited me to join them.

There was a whole get-together going on, and Mark was one of many guests. They had this fancy brunch buffet and everything, complete with mimosas or whatever alcoholic beverages people drink before noon. When it came time for the parade to start, some of us went down to the street to watch. There were a lot of people already there, so one of the other guests had gone ahead and saved us a spot.

I had only been to a few parades before, and none on this scale. There were LGBT groups, corporate groups, church groups, musical groups… you name it. Amazon had a group marching in the parade, and so did Microsoft. Members of Seattle Atheists were dressed as pirates and had a giant Flying Spaghetti Monster, and Mark ran into the street to be touched by its noodly appendage.

Speaking of noodly appendages, I guess it was bad of me to assume that there would be a lot of overt sexuality in the parade. There wasn’t, really, except for the naked bicyclists. I wonder how they were allowed to be naked outside. Some of them didn’t even have body paint… I think. I was looking at their faces.

Throughout the parade, there was a lot of noise—cheering, applauding, and so on—but not a word needed to be spoken. That really made an emotional impact on me, the fact that a large group of people could celebrate without words. Everybody seemed to have the same idea in mind.

I have a retort for anyone who might wonder why many LGBT people express their pride so publicly: “I believe they’ll keep on doing it as long as you keep trying to make them feel ashamed.” Fortunately, I haven’t had to use it yet, and I hope I never will, but there’s still a long way to go. And the fact that the parade was on a Sunday morning: irony at its deliciousest. (Well, it’s not really irony, I guess.)

Here are some photos of the parade from someone who must have been standing right next to me.

This link is a little late for the Fourth of July, but watch an British teenager show off his knowledge of American history.

I live in an apartment on the 99th floor of my block

And I sit at home, looking out the window, imagining The World of Stuff…

Coming to you live from downtown Seattle, Washington, it’s none other than me in my new apartment! I moved in on Tuesday. That’s the last day I had corporate housing, and it was when I had an appointment for my IKEA furniture to be put together by experts who knew what they were doing. Thank goodness for that.

I’d never bought furniture before, so buying two whole rooms seemed like a daunting task. I was afraid that everything would look like crap together and/or not fit. So I erred on the side of small furniture, with all of the pieces in each room having the same finish. And guess what: It all looks good, and there’s plenty of space left over. I was elated when the assemblers had put everything together and I realized that everything was going to be okay.

My building doesn’t actually have a 99th floor, but I’m pretty high up—only one floor down from the penthouse—and I have a magnificent view. There’s another building coming up a few blocks away that threatens to block half of my view of the water, but I just found out that it won’t end up being that tall. Phew. I have my desk facing the window so I can look at the Space Needle while I internet. I’m so close that people’s camera flashes on the observation deck can get my attention! I’ll have to get used to that.

I’m still getting my stuff organized. I’m almost done with that, and after my first paycheck (this Thursday), I want to buy a few more things, like a rug and some patio furniture for my balcony, to make the apartment complete. Well, I don’t think it’ll be truly complete for a while. The walls are pretty blank, and I don’t know what to put on them. I’m hesitant to make too many holes and/or do a bad job of aligning things. I don’t even have that much to hang up. I’m not going to bring out the same old posters and stuff. I want my new home to be a little classier than a dorm room.

I got my diploma in the mail a few days ago. Actually, my parents got it, since my address on file with the university was theirs, and they sent it to me. It’s rolled up in a nondescript tube with the return address printed all over it. I would hate for my diploma to get lost in the mail, so I guess it’s good that they do that. There’s a framing store downstairs, so I’ll probably take it down there soon. Maybe I can hang it on the wall, but I don’t really know what college graduates do with their diplomas besides putting them in their office if they have one. I don’t.

Speaking of which, I’m really liking the 15-minute walk to work. Besides that, I often have to wait up to a minute or two for the elevator to arrive at my floor, and then it takes about 30 seconds to get to the lobby, but that hasn’t bothered me, so I doubt it ever will. Really, I’m just impressed at how fast the elevator is. I’m used to slow elevators.

I am just knocked out by how great everything is right now, and I have a whole lot more I can talk about, but I’ll hold off for now so I can try to get eight hours of sleep. Tomorrow is Monday.

One link today: how a vegan became an ex-vegan. It’s kind of a long read, but it was a real eye-opener for me, and I recommend reading it to find out why avoiding animal products is bad for you and bad for the earth.

The world of furniture

I hate moving. I think more of the stress I’ve been having lately has been due to moving rather than my new job.

As I mentioned previously, I finally chose an apartment. I wasn’t sure if I had made a good decision since I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, but now I believe I picked a winner. But, of course, that’s not the end of the story. You see, I’ve never owned my own furniture. My previous apartment, which was also my first, came fully furnished. I had to buy all new furniture.

So, the weekend after signing the lease, I headed out to IKEA because they seem to have a pretty big selection and their stuff is pretty affordable. (I’m not really sure since I’d never bought furniture before—see above). It was a pretty long bus ride away, but I had to do it. I spent upwards of eight hours there (it’s a good thing they have a restaurant), making my selections for an entire living room and bedroom.

When I got to the warehouse, I realized that not everything I wanted was in stock and that I couldn’t even haul around everything that was. So I took what I could. The total: over $2,000. I don’t know how it makes some people feel good to spend lots of money. When the cashier told me the total, I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me. And then: “What payment plans do you have?” “We don’t.” “…Okay…”

To get everything else I needed, I had to place a phone order to the store a few days later, and since some of the stuff I wanted still wasn’t in stock, they had to have two separate shipments. Yes, IKEA delivers, and this particular store also recommends a third-party company to assemble your furniture for you if you want. I decided to take advantage of both services. I don’t trust myself to put furniture together. I have my strengths, but when you put a screwdriver in my hand, I become a complete idiot.

The furniture came on Saturday and Tuesday, except for a couple parts of the bed, which they said wouldn’t be in stock for another month. So, whoopee, I have no bed for at least a month but probably longer. (Or, I could return the parts of the bed that I have, meaning I would have to take them on a bus somehow and then carry them for a mile, and then

1. buy another bed that doesn’t match my bedroom furniture.
2. buy the whole bed from IKEA’s website—they don’t seem to sell the individual pieces there—and pay an exorbitant delivery fee.

No.)

At least I have the mattress, I keep telling myself. At least I have the mattress.

Everyone has been asking me what the timeline is, so here it is. This Tuesday, the furniture assembly people will be coming to put my furniture together, so this is the date I can actually move in. It’s also the day I have to move in, since that’s when I have to move out of corporate housing. (Couldn’t have timed that better.)

As for my actual stuff, I called the moving company this week, and they said it was still in the truck and that it could only be delivered on Sunday—otherwise, it would have to go into storage, and they didn’t know how long it would have to stay there. I didn’t want to get all my stuff before I had my furniture set up, but it’s much better than having to wait an indeterminate amount of time before considering myself officially moved in.

I could have moved in over two weeks ago if I had played my cards right, but I guess I just wasn’t clever enough with the timing of everything. So this whole moving process has been a waiting game, and that has contributed to the stress. Knowing when the next step is coming, even when it’s a long way off, is better than not knowing at all and having to wonder. And wonder and wonder and wonder…

So everything has pretty much come together, but I’m still wondering how best to arrange this furniture that I bought. The living room is square, with the kitchen on one side, a window on the opposite side, a wall with an electric fireplace (aaawwww yeeeaaahhh), and a wall with nothing. I was thinking of having my dining table (can’t call it a dining room table, I guess) on the side closer to the kitchen, and my desk facing the window so I can have a nice view because honestly, I’ll be sitting there a lot. That leaves the couch to face the fireplace, but it would be pretty far away, and I think it would be pretty closely flanked by the table and the desk. Hopefully it’ll all look okay or I’ll come up with a brilliant idea while everything’s being put together (since I’m not going to be able to move everything by myself).

Yes, hopefully everything will be okay, but anyone who fancies herself or himself (see what I did there?) an interior designer should totally help me out here. Please.

(Fun fact about this post: I was going to call it “Movin’ on Up” until I found out that that’s what I called the post where I talked about moving in to my previous apartment. Clearly I am continually moving up.)

And now, some lighthearted viewing: Worst Band Ever Butchers Pink Floyd.

Seattle

For over eight years, I’ve written about important things that have happened in my life. This, however, is the most important so far: having graduated from college, I’ve moved to a new city to start a full-time job. By all accounts, I have become a fully functioning adult.

It started with Kate coming to visit. On Saturday, May 14, I went to Orlando to pick her up from the airport, and we headed back to Gainesville. My main goal for the next few days was to get all my stuff ready to be shipped out. We tried to make the most of our last few days there, though, and that included spending time with my parents, who live nearby. So the next day, they picked us up, and we had Sunday brunch with them. Then I spent a lot of time getting the things together that I wanted to take with me to Seattle. In doing so, I had to finish unpacking the stuff that was still packed from when my parents moved to the house.

Being in college is a funny thing. You don’t really have a home. I didn’t really feel like I did, anyway. You live in a dorm room or an apartment, and you’re “home” with your parents very rarely. But what happens when your parents decide to move? Is the new home still your home if you’ve hardly ever spent any time in it? Even if they leave a bedroom for you with all the things you didn’t take to college, it’s a tough question to answer, and it makes it pretty annoying to talk about simple things.

My parents graciously took us back to my apartment that night. On the way, we picked up some food (I was trying to empty out my pantry, so I didn’t have much), including some chicken. Not actual raw chicken from the back of the grocery store, but the frozen, quasi-pre-cooked variety that you find in a bag with the frozen foods (or maybe somewhere else, I’ve never actually looked for it myself). Kate wanted to have chicken and pasta for dinner, and she insisted that I make everything. I would have to sautee the chicken and I didn’t know how (oh my god jordan u dont kno how to saute chicken????????????/), but Kate told me what to do, and it turned out okay. I used too much oil, but I thought it was fine.

I hate cooking, but I want to want to do it. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s because the ability to cook is the mark of a responsible, sophisticated adult, and those who subsist on microwaveable frozen dinners are seen as just plain sad. I also hope to have guests over often when I’m on my own, and it would be nice to treat them to something–or to have the utensils and ingredients available for them to treat me. Also, preparing your own food is cheaper and better for you and blah blah blah blah. After supervising two pieces of chicken in a pan of hot oil, I do have to say that I feel a little better about the daunting prospect of learning to cook.

On Monday, we went downtown to walk around. After that, we went to the mall so Kate could get a prepaid phone plan and I could get a household toolbox. I figured I needed one because I was trying to put my new vacuum cleaner together and the screwdriver on my Swiss army knife just wouldn’t do it. It was pretty late by the time we got there, and Kate had noted that we had never actually been on a proper date, so we had dinner at Macaroni Grill.

The next day, Tuesday, was our big day out. We started by going to the Einstein Bros. at UF, and then after a trip to the Harn Museum, we had Krishna lunch. After that, we split up so I could go back to my apartment. I had to meet the person who was taking over my lease, and we had to sign some paperwork. The management of my apartment complex wouldn’t let me break the lease (jordan y didnt u keep bugging them about it they wood have done it evenutally–too freaking bad, it already happened!), and the terms of my lease didn’t allow subleasing.

After that, I met up with Kate again at the 34th Street Wall, the only place in town where graffiti is tolerated. We checked out the artwork and messages that other people had put up, and then we headed to The Top, where we ate dinner. After that, we saw a movie (I Am) at the Hippodrome. The premise of the movie was pretty interesting: “What’s wrong with the world, and how can we fix it?” The short answer is pretty much what you’d expect: people are selfish, and they shouldn’t be. It was pretty good, though.

After that, we were really tired (especially Kate, who had been exploring Gainesville on foot while I was filling out paperwork), so we went back to the apartment.

On Wednesday, I concentrated on getting my stuff together so the movers could take it easily. They would be responsible for actually boxing things up, I took care of all the small and fragile items myself, leaving just the larger and/or box-shaped things. Also, Kate wanted to go tubing near my (parents’) house, so they picked us up and we floated down the Santa Fe River for a bit before heading back to the apartment.

Thursday, May 19, was moving day. The movers came in the morning, boxing up what needed to be boxed and taking everything I didn’t have in my suitcases. There were three of them, and it only took them an hour and 45 minutes. (They were pleased that they didn’t have to take most of the furniture; my apartment came furnished.) Later, we went back to the mall for another shot at getting a good phone plan for Kate, but we only got as far as having a late lunch before my parents were ready to pick us up.

They took us to the AT&T store, and after Kate had a new US phone number on an old phone (my old one), we went back to my apartment so I could get my bags and turn in my keys. Kate was sad that I was leaving since the place was full of good memories for her. I had had good, bad, and mediocre memories, and I knew I could do better living on my own, so I was more excited than anything.

Kate also wanted to kayak, but since we didn’t have time to do it the day before, we did it that day. The kayaks were already ready to go, so we just went down to the river again and put in. The trip took about two hours, which was a lot shorter than we thought it was going to be, and fortunately, it ended just before it was completely dark.

Our plan for the weekend was to go to the condo. “The condo” is my great-aunt’s condo that she lets her relatives use for part of the year. It’s on North Hutchinson Island in Fort Pierce, and it has a private beach and everything. I’ve been there more times than I can possibly count; I was even there as a fetus. We used to go at least once a year and sometimes even twice, but I hadn’t been there for three years. In 2009, I was in Europe, and last year, we didn’t go because my parents were busy getting ready to move.

At the condo, we went to the beach a lot and spent some time playing Ping-Pong in the game room downstairs. It was a great way to enjoy my last days as a Florida resident, except for the mosquitoes that came out in full force.

From the condo, we went directly to Orlando International Airport, where I said goodbye to my parents and sister. Goodbyes are the hardest part of moving, but in today’s world, distance is less important than it used to be. I’ve still been calling my parents and texting my sister, just as I did when I lived close to them.

After a six-hour flight that didn’t seem quite as long, Kate and I were in Seattle. Kate had never been there, and I had only first visited a few weeks ago, but we managed to get around with the help of a cheesy tourist map I had kept from my first visit. I had corporate housing; the corporate housing company rents an apartment at an apartment complex and lets you live there for a limited time, providing maid-type services occasionally.

To pick up the keys, we had to go to a different apartment complex (it happened to be one that I had looked at during my previous visit), so we had a lot of walking to do with our heavy bags. But finally, we made it to our destination, and shortly thereafter went out in search of food.

Across the street was a French crepe place, so we went in. The only person there was an old woman who spoke very little English. You had to order your food by number, and we soon found out why. Facing the woman was a list of numbers with English pronunciations written phonetically in Russian. Kate was able to talk to her in Russian. We surmised that it was a family business making Russian bliny (“pancakes”), which are very similar or identical to crepes. Of course, crepes are more familiar to Americans.

The next day, we were faced with the task of finding more food. Kate had made a grocery list, and I went to about four nearby and not-so-nearby stores with little success. But we managed to get her basics (yogurt, bread, cheese, lunchmeat), so that would be enough to last a little while.

Then we spent about eight hours moseying around Seattle, enjoying the sights and checking out some significant places in the history of grunge music (Kate is a grunge fan and has wanted to visit Seattle for half her life). We also ended up doing quite a bit of shopping. It was all exhausting, and when we got back to the apartment, I went to bed early, hopefully not entirely due to the jet lag.

This morning, Andy is coming to visit us. We’re about to go pick him up from the airport. As you can see, I haven’t had much of an opportunity to describe my feelings about moving; I’ve only had time to talk about what we did. Hopefully after the dust settles and I get more quiet time, I can reflect on what it’s like to move across the country and start what I guess amounts to a new life (although I’m still me).

Also, I’ve changed the time zone on my blog, so this and future posts will be on Pacific Time. The “EST” designation is hardcoded (I guess I never thought I’d move or that WordPress would support Daylight Saving Time), and I’ll have to figure out how to change it. Again, I’ll be able to do that eventually.