Last Statement

My last "live" update from the Fortress of Solitude 2.0.

Kathy the broker called me Wednesday morning, asking if one of her broker partners could quickly show the place in the afternoon. Assured me that they would be prepared for the fact that the place would be riddled with boxes.

It helped put a fire under me to do some extra clearing up. The broker and his client were really nice. They probably spent two minutes here before thanking me and taking off.

These final days and hours before a move really suck. Doesn't help when you're not too thrilled about where you're moving to. Holding out on packing the final creature comforts. Waiting till Thursday night to pull the plug on the computer and the television.

Wednesday, my last load of laundry done. Last pick-up from the dry cleaners.

Thursday, making time for a farewell run at the neighborhood gym. I should try to drop by the new place and do some prep for the move-in, too.

I do loathe the chaotic nature of moves. Trying to consider everything that can go wrong when you're having perfect strangers transport all your worldly possessions. I'm mildly comforted knowing that I've gone through some difficult moves before...

The move from the West Village to Chinatown was a disorganized mess. Two cars and a gang of friends-of-friends.

The move from Chinatown to Park Slope was a lot smoother. U-Haul van and a more organized group of friends.

The move from Park Slope to "Metrotech" (which sounds like a place where they'd have Robocop patrolling the lawless streets) was my first experience hiring movers. There was a freight elevator there which helped a lot.

The move from Metrotech to the Upper West Side went relatively well, too. Hired movers again. It was a lot more expensive than I'd hoped for -- and by that time the Metrotech building's freight elevator wasn't operational -- but it got done.

(There was also the time I went out to Cali to help my ex's parent move, which was an astounding nightmare.)

Of course, I list these for my own reassurance. I've made it through more difficult moves. People move all the time. Farther distances. Across state lines. Across the country. I just get wound up when there are a lot of factors outside of my control. Money is exceptionally tight, as well, and I need to make sure I leave here cleanly so I get my deposit back.

A lot of words here and not very much said.

I'm sad to leave. Anxious about the new home on many levels. But it is needful. A strategic move with an eye on the long-term goals.

I'm ready, Warden.

[If you're looking for a real bummer, you can browse through the last statements from executed offenders.]

the thirties (or "i've always had a crush on kim deal")

I miss being in my twenties. (Said the thirty-something.)

Fuck hindsight. I could say, "I miss being a child and not having to worry about paying for rent and meals..." but I had a deliriously crumby childhood and I don't miss it, nor do I miss elementary/junior/high school and all of that business.

But the twenties. You're an adult but it's like a second chance at childhood. Anything you can accomplish in your twenties is stellar. There's a freedom. Even if you screw up your career, YOU ARE IN YOUR TWENTIES. You're just a kid figuring things out.

You hit your thirties, shit gets real...

For a stretch, I kinda thought I was ahead of the game in my twenties. Before the divorce and all of that drama. But right at thirty, my career took off and the world seemed chummy again.

Now, I'm slouching toward my mid-thirties and despite the fact that I still get carded, everything has increased significance. After living on my own for a number of years, moving to an apartment with roommates again while my career may (or may not) be on the cusp of progressing to the next level. Considering the LONG-VIEW and trying to figure out how I expect to consistently support myself over the next few years. Where do I want to be in 5 years?

Plotting the remaining arc of my life and the strategy to retirement.

I was talking to my pop the other week and he was, characteristically, trying to offer me advice:

"Have you thought of looking for a job in the U.N.?"

"The United Nations?"

"Yeah."

"NO, I haven't looked into that."

"How about NASA?"

"NASA?!??"

"Yes, NASA. N-A-S-A."

"What would I do in NASA?!? I'm a writer!"

"Yeah! You could write speeches."

That's when I realized the reason I never listen to my father's advice is because he doesn't understand ANYTHING about the world. And yet he always needs to offer advice.

He also told me about one of my aunts who was recently diagnosed with leukemia. My old man is always terrific at buzz-kills. Message received: I am genetically doomed.

I'm going to miss living on my own on the Upper West Side.

Doggy AT AT Afternoon

Monday: a heavier push through packing.

It's a puzzle game now. I've got boxes of random sizes and not a lot of space to shift things around in my place. Plus, I still have to live and work in here for a few more days. It's come to the point where I've got to plot the remaining hours out.

Yet another drop-off at the Salvation Army on Monday mourning. Getting rid of a slew of kitchen items. It's amazing how much stuff I've donated to the Salvation Army for this move. And I've still got too much stuff for this tomb I'm moving into.

Also, got myself a haircut. My hair grows like crazy and it'd been far too long since my last haircut. Went to the nearby International Haircutters this time and had Tamiko work her wonders. She's the best. I was thinking this might be the last time I'd go there -- I started going there because it's so close to my apartment -- but I may actually take the train and keep going there. I'd have to start making appointments in advance though. I've gotten spoiled by walk-ins.

This is a dog dressed up as an AT AT:

They're Coming to Get Me

4 days. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

Friday, 9am, the movers descend and the party's over. Goodbye, Upper West Side.

I've got a lot of little things to do yet.

I'm not really a pack-rat but living in these tiny NYC spaces makes you feel like a pack-rat. Does having books make you a pack-rat? I'm down to two bookcases that I'm bringing to this new tomb and I know that it's still too much.

I've created a diagram to illustrate the size progression of my NYC living spaces over the past five years:

Yes, I'm really going in the wrong direction. Each move has required a dramatic downsizing. This one even more than the last. And I still don't think I have the space I need, but we're going to have to make do, yah feel meh?

The Tomb awaits me. (Perhaps "Hell's Tomb", as a nod to its proximity to Hell's Kitchen. But simply "The Tomb" seems somehow most fitting.)

I just need to get through this week... (... and this month... and this year...) ... but I'm already dreaming of the place that will be worthy enough to call the Fortress of Solitude 3.0... THAT will be a grand, haunted palace...

Gump!

"Weird Al" Yankovic + Forrest Gump x parody of The Presidents of the United States's "Lump" = DOUBLY DATED COMEDY GOLD.

You're welcome, America.

In other news, my first press release, not BUTCHERHOUSE-related.

This Is It

In one week, I'll be moving.

Friday the 13th.

A bit too on-the-nose, don't you think?

There is so much more I could have and should have accomplished this week. A part of me is just clutching onto these final hours and days I've got in a space that is completely my own. I don't want to leave the Upper West Side. This location has been perfect for me. This was my first apartment all to myself. Moved here on the heels of a devastating transitional phase in my life. Moving out during another transitional phase. But all of this is in service to the Big Picture.

An encouraging call from the manager Thursday afternoon. Hoping I'll be able to share something more substantial here relatively soon.

One week from today. I've got to get my shit together. Because I can't live like this forever.

Goosebumps

Gotta admit, Robert Lawrence Stine is a far better writer than some of the other authors I've been forced to read as of late. I'm not far into this book, but the guy's craft is tight.

I'm not the fastest reader on earth but it takes me even longer to get through these "assignment" reads because I take a lot of notes as I'm going through one of these books, to try to save myself some time afterwards. I had no experience adapting before I broke into The Business, but adapting has basically become the entirety of my pitiable life as of late.

Treatments. Treatment after treatment after (pardon my french) motherfucking treatment. That's another thing I had zero experience doing before, and now it occupies every square inch of my productivity.

This section breaks down the ADAPTATION OVERVIEW...

This section breaks down CHARACTERS...

This section breaks down SCARES...

This section breaks down STRUCTURE...

Are your eyes appropriately glazing over? Keep in mind, all of this work is served up GRATIS. Work done with zero immediate compensation. Imagine a prostitute offering free blowjobs to prove her worth before you actually pony up hard cash. Ah yes, nothing better than a good screenwriter/prostitute metaphor, is there...?

Mmmm... sabroso...