HUGE MOVING SALE!!!!

IKEA Lack Side Table

LA-Z-BOY Sofa

Crock Pot

Samsung Blu-Ray Player

IKEA nightstand (2)

IKEA 3-shelf bookshelf

Brita water pitcher

Black & Decker Food Processor

Cuisinart Coffee Maker

Chairs

IKEA Folding Dining Table

Matt in the Mill City

Well, I've made it to Minneapolis, my home for the next three years. That is, unless I follow Lori's advice and "get all straight As and transfer to the U of C next year." The voyage was not without its bumps in the road, but Boogs and I got here safely, only slightly worse for the wear. The past few days have been all about running around and getting those little new apartment things that one is never quite completely prepared for. Such as, air conditioners, trash bags, shower curtains, food... you know, essentials. Anyway, the posters are hung up, the lamps have shades, the air is being conditioned. Of course, all my clothes are still in the plastic bins they arrived in a week ago, but let's not dwell on the details.

So far, the new apartment is great and the area is cool. There's a cute little coffee shop in the next building and I can see downtown Minneapolis from my front stoop. Of course, it's no architecture powerhouse like Chicago, but it definitely has charm.

Here are a few initial observations/deductions. (Disclaimer: I am ripping these off from an e-mail I sent to Val two days ago.)

Observed today:

1. A street cutting across two others at a diagonal. The name of this street? Diagonal Blvd. Subtle.

2. I-94 is a retarded highway. In order to get to my house from the west, I have to drive past it, loop onto 35W, go by the law school, and exit by the Metrodome. Mind you, I live two blocks from I-94.

Overheard at Ikea:
"Daddy, walk faster so we can go to the Mall of America." That pretty much summed up my day. I don't know what that means.

Overheard on the radio:
A commercial for a gun shop where, "with every firearm you buy, you get a lifetime warranty." I am scared - http://www.notaxs.org/. Can't Minneapolis-ians or whatever they're called just buy their guns on the black market or from Wal-Mart like normal people?

Special Life Lesson Learned:
Target does not sell air conditioners.

Goal for tomorrow:
Find a post office or a blue mailbox. (Update: I located the post office but have yet to find the blue mailbox.)

I bet this has never happened to you.

Well, that's it. Whatever vestiges of innocence remained in my being are now gone forever. I have been violated in the most terrible way. Let me begin by describing my office to you. It is a nice "corner" office (I say "corner" because, even though it is in the corner of the building, only one wall has any windows) on the first floor of the building. It faces out onto an alley, which is less than a view of the skyline, but more than an office in the basement. There are some lovely shrubs planted at about eye-level which block out most of the random things that happen in your average urban alley, but also allow a blinding amount of sun into my otherwise shut-in existence. I should also mention that, although the shrubbery is lovely to look at, it does not provide "full-coverage". This is about to become very important.

So, I was at work yesterday, minding my own business, working on some document or report or something when I notice, out of the corner of my eye, someone approaching my window from the alley. My first thought was that it was someone about to rifle through the dumpsters which are also located outside my window, and which are also partially concealed by lovely shrubbery. However, this particular gentleman has far more sinister plans in mind. I first caught on to the reality of the situation when said gentleman's hands moved toward his belt. "OK," thought I, "he is going to take a wizz. That's really disgusting. I am going to look away." Then, and this is where the true tragedy of the event that is about to happen hits, our gentleman begins, in one smooth motion, to turn around, squat, and "drop-trou". Oh. My. God. Let's just say I probably broke a land-speed record getting the hell out of my office at that point. Dear reader, I have gone blind, I want to rub habanero peppers in my eyes, I want to go to a hypnotist to make me block the memories out of my mind forever. This is one case where it is best to repress. What's a person to do now? My office is forever tainted. I cannot look out the window for fear of what other ghastly sights would confront me. I have determined via a random and unscientific poll that I am the only person in the entire office ever to have had this happen. This is the legacy I will leave. This will be my gift to the ages. That is so depressing.

Oh god, the smell!

Yesterday, on the bus ride home, I was presented with an impossible, no-win situation. See if this has ever happened to you. You get on the bus and you are immediately assaulted by the fetid stench of unwashed human which has only been compounded by the fact that it has been consistently in the high-80s and humid for the past two weeks. You think to yourself, "OK, I will just head to the back of the bus to avoid the stinky person sitting here at the front," and normally that would be a winning strategy. However, last night, the "Stink Party" had two candidates on the ballot, so to speak, in that there was an additional stinky person in the back of the bus. What can one do in such a situation? My nose plugs and Vick's Vapo-Rub were both at home, so that option was out. I had already waited 25 minutes for that bus, so getting off and waiting for the next one was out of the question. So what did I do? I sat there and pressed my nose to the tiny opening in the window and tried to inhale as much cleansing bus exhaust as possible in the hope I would pass out and thus be freed from the horrible devil-smell. Ew.

What's the opposite of "hiatus"?

I can't believe it has almost been a year since my last post. If anyone out there is still reading this (Ahem... Brittney...) you deserve some kind of prize. A fair amount of stuff has happened since last I blogged. People got older, colleagues left work, new friends came along, vacations were enjoyed, etc. Today, however, I am going back to my favorite topic--public transportation. This isn't going to be about how much it sucks (a lot) or how slow it is (very), but rather this little story revolves around the clash between the old and the new, the young and the old, the smarmy and the crotchety. Riding the bus home today, which I do now because the Red Line construction has made riding the El home the most excruciating experience second only to being force-fed bananas by Jennifer Love Hewitt, one of my younger coworkers happened to get on the bus halfway through my journey home. Fine, whatever, head-nods were exchanged, etc. Some time after this happened, an old man whom I can only describe as "crotchety-lookin" joined us on our journey with his little piece of urban luggage, which is basically a briefcase with wheels for people who can't be bothered to use their arms anymore. My young colleague happened to be seated in a seat which CLOM (crotchety-lookin old man) coveted. Mind you, this was a very crowded bus so no seats were available and CLOM was forced to stand. After traveling about a half of a stop, CLOM proceeds to berate YWC (young work colleague) for sitting in a seat that is marked "Priority" (meaning for the elderly and handicapped). It appeared as if CLOM was giving YWC quite an earful and the incident lasted for a good 90 seconds before YWC gave up his seat to CLOM. During this whole time I was listening to my iPod so didn't actually hear any of the conversation, but in my head it went something like this:

CLOM: "You there. Young whipper-snapper. You're in my seat."

YWC: "Step off grandpa. I was here first."

CLOM: "Kids today are so goddamn ungrateful. I was in the war you know, I fought for your right to sit on the goddamned bus!"

YWC: "Suck it old man, you had your chance to sit on the bus. This is MY time."

CLOM: "Young man, I am going to kick your ass back to eighteen sickity-six if you don't move."

YWC: "OK, ok, calm down. I'll move. Jesus."

CLOM: "That's more like it bee-yotch."

--------

So, I am sure that is a pretty accurate dramatization since I am a rather accomplished lip reader.

Moral of the story: Old people and young people BOTH suck.

Oh yeah, and I am trying really hard to bring "suck it" back, but it is hard to work into everyday work conversation.

Super-train or super-suck?

Since I moved to Edgewater, I've been taking the El to work every day. This has been, in my estimation, a good character building experience. Since I both live and work off the Red Line, my commute has suddenly gotten much easier. And even though I now live about 2 miles farther from work than I did when I lived at my old apartment, my commute on the El takes just about as long as my old commute by car did. Is the El a magic time-bending, warp-speed supertrain? Far from it, my friend. In fact, it seems I spend most of my commute time now sitting on a train that is stopped between stations "waiting for signals ahead" or because "there is a train ahead of us at the station, we should be moving again in a few moments." These times have proved somewhat frustrating for me and are only eased by the soothing comfort and distraction of a truly marvelous invention, the iPod. Since I get sick if I read on the train, I can either zone out to the very appropriate "Morning Train" by Scotland's native daughter, Sheena Easton, or twiddle my thumbs and drool like a retard. Believe me, that's not something you'd want to see (at 8:00 in the morning.)

It must be a government conspiracy.

My grocery store now allows you to pay with your fingerprint. Of course, I signed up right away, and used it for the first time last night. Oh my god, people, the future is here! I always knew my fingers were destined for something greater than tapping or typing or twiddling. I want to thank Albertson's/Jewel-Osco for giving my finger new found functionality. I have to admit, my finger has been feeling in a rut lately. There had been nothing to shake it out of its routine, that is, until now. Thank you Jewel, and thank you Ms. Patricia Heaton.