Buyer's remorse is setting in and we don't even sign the papers for another hour and a half. Phone and cable don't get hooked up till Friday, so you won't be hearing from me again until then. So, 'til we have house and furniture, toodle-loo!

24 Hours Till Home
So as Adam said when evalutating my almost pleasant morning mood, "It doesn't really matter. At this point, all roads lead to crankiness." Today is the search for paint colors and shopping at outlet stores. I wanted the chair that matched our couch, so we bought that yesterday, although it not only broke the furniture budget, I think it broke our down-payment budget. But today's mood should be better because we have my air-conditioned car back and while there's much to get done, the only thing that is required is our final walk-through of the house this evening. Which is good because I'm starting to forget what it looks like.

We Made It!
Arrived safely in Boston last night after two nights in the New York area. Adam and I went out to celebrate my cousin's engagement on Saturday night in the East Village, which gave me lots of opportunities to say things such as, "Oh the East Village used to be so much cooler and less Yuppified," and "What happend to [Insert name of bar that hasn't existed for at least 7 years]? That was the coolest bar." Adam and I, who are normally in bed by 10 p.m. when not under the influence of the Tweedle Twirp and her evil night ways, were doing find until Tweeds gleefully asked us, "Do you have any idea what time it is?" Hadn't occurred to me. "It's quarter to four!" Instantly I became exhausted and had to sleep immediately. My body is not meant for the wee morning hours unless I'm just waking up.

We made a pilgramage to Ground Zero, which was simply a hole in the ground. What shocked me is how small the whole area seemed. The World Trade Towers always seemed so massive and huge when I went down there, but the area they were on seemed too small. What I found the most affecting was seeing the buildings that were around the WTC block that were covered. One was draped entirely in black with a flag on it that I found particularly creepy. I wonder if this had happened in any other country if it would be the type of tourist destination it obviously is here. Believe me, we weren't alone in our trip to the site.

The rest of the visit was lighter. Since we were in the city for less than 24 hours, we decided we wouldn't call anyone, so if you live in New York and didn't hear from us, that's why. Simply not enough time. But we'll be back.

And then Sunday, bleary eyed and butt sore, we made it to Boston. A surreal feeling, actually. As I said to Adam, "It doesn't feel like this is it, that we're now here for good." This feels like just one more stop on our trip. I imagine after the closing on Wednesday when we fork over a bajillion dollars and have a place of our own, maybe this will feel more permanent. We're doing what we can: today we are going to get paint samples that we can put on the walls on Wednesday afternoon so we can see what colors work in the new house. Also, we need to start furniture shopping. We're going from 790 square feet of livable space to 1800+ square feet. That's a lot of house to fill.

Highland Park, NJ; total miles: 3,346
Finally, a place with an Internet connection. Part of the problem of stopping in small towns is there's no dial-in number, which means that all the great tidbits of the day are long forgotten by the time I get to connect. So here is a reconstruction of the past few days:

Drive. Drive some more. Drive, drive, drive. Be really bored. Sing some songs. Sleep. Drive, stop and see a sight, drive some more.

Of course, when I write "drive," I really mean "passenge," since all I'm doing is sitting in the passenger seat. I offer to drive. He never wants to take me up on that. Hmmm, wonder why.

I've got a passenger tan. The right side of my body is quite dark and the left rather pale. Lovely, I assure you.

Okay, so here's what we've done:

Tuesday, leaving Jackson, Wyoming
A fun-filled day of drive and stop. After breakfast with my aunt, we headed through the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone, with periodic stops to look at moose and nature. Very lovely. And then we drove. All day. Till we reached the other side of Wyoming on little back highways. We stopped for the night in Moorcroft, Wyoming. What, you've never heard of it? Shocked!

Our pictures from Tuesday:
Jenny and the moose
The self-portrait series, 1 (The Grand Tetons)

Wednesday, leaving Moorcroft, Wyoming
How much fun can you have in one day? I think we packed just about all we could in. First, a stop at Devil's Tower. Which was fine except that I was obsessing about not being able to remember the tune to Close Encounters, and it was making me buggy. But we walked around the Tower and it was as astounding as people say it is. The temperature was not so slowly creeping up, so we didn't stay and do more hikes--we're not really the nature types, me and Adam. Sure, it's pretty to look at it, but after awhile it all looks the same.

So off to Deadwood, South Dakota, famed as the deathplace of Wild Bill Hickok. Adam and I walked the streets, had a $2.99 lunch buffet, gambled a bit at blackjack (he lost his $20, I made $5), and left with plenty of time to visit Mt. Rushmore, which is the most poorly signed national monument ever. We got a little lost (how hard could it be to find a huge rock with faces in it?) but finally made it. We both agreed we had expected it to be more kitschy, but actually it was a remarkable thing to see. What, that's not enough excitement for you? Well, not for us either, and we saved the best for last that day: Wall Drug. We entertained ourselves for a good 100 miles reading the billboards, and you know, it's just as good as they say!

Our pictures from Wednesday:
The self-portrait series 2 (Devil's Tower)
Leaving Devil's Tower
The self-portrait series 3 (Mt. Rushmore)
Adam outside of Wall Drug
The magic that is Wall Drug

Eventually, we wore ourselves out good and ended up in Murbo, South Dakota, just this side of the Central Time Zone. And we rested in preparation for...

Thursday, leaving Murbo, South Dakota
The next and final mandatory stop on any cross-country trip is, of course, the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota. As glorious as it sounds, this is a building decorated completely in corn. A wonder to see, they change the designs every year (have to, as the birds eat away at the walls), and it was truly not a disappointment. The last high point on our trip, the last checkmark to check off, so now there's nothing to do but drive mindlessly toward the east coast. Or so we thought. Because to our absolute delight and surprise, I-90 takes you right through Austin, Minnesota, which is of course home to...

The Spam Museum
We saw the sign. "Believe the hype," it said. And oh how we did! The Spam Museum is by far the finest museum I've laid my eyes on. Shiny and new with lots of buttons to press, the museum is dedicated to all that is Spam. From a movie introduction highlighting Spam haikus and a college student who for the last five years has worn a Spam t-shirt every day to the history of Hormel to the Monty Python Spam sketch, this museum leaves nothing out. Spam, it's a beautiful thing. Worth, perhaps, a trip to Austin, Minnesota.

Adam at the Spam-packing simulator

And Then...
And then there was nothing but road. We got on the road and made it to Rockford, Illinois, pretty late. And then today, we drove 905 miles to make it to New Jersey where we are crashing at the Tweedle Twirps. Tomorrow we will spend the day in the city, attend my cousin's engagement party, and then return to New Jersey on Sunday to retrieve our car and make it to Boston in time for our house closing this week. It's been a long tedious drive. Never again. Although, if I recall, I've said that before...

Jackson, Wyoming
Okay, I've upgraded to the "fancier" blogger so that I can now change dates on my posts. I'm still figuring it out, but it does mean that now when I have to write three days in a row, because I can't dial in while in some dinky town, I can still post in order. Works nicely. Anyway, we made it to Wilson, Wyoming, (which is just outside of Jackson), where we are staying in my aunt and uncle's gorgeous house out in the wilderness. I hadn't seen my cousin Brandon in 8 years (he's 9 now) so it's been great meeting him. Their house is not to be believed, I'm telling you. Huge, tons of windows, sunken couch, wood beams larger than a phone pole. You walk in and feel instant lust for the place. It's hard not to. They have two dogs whose main purpose is to keep the cattle off their property (which also explains the huge ranch-like gate at the end of their driveway). The dogs also help keep away the coyote and the bears. We've seen elk, deer, and a couple of hawks so far. Anyway, as a bonus, my grandparents were here yesterday as well, so we got some good quality family time all around. Today we told my aunt, Loren, that we'd take Brandon to camp for her, because she was super busy. So we roused him from bed (late), threw the last waffles in the oven for him, and hurried him off. "Get your shoes onl," I told him. He slips on a pair of shoes that are about 5 sizes too big for him. "Are those your shoes? They look like your mothers." "Nope, they're mine!" "Are you sure?" Adam looks him over and says, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in a smaller pair of shoes?" "Nope, I want to wear these!" Adam looks at me and asks, "What do we do?" I shrug. "Let him wear them, I guess." So off we go, Brandon swimming in his shoes. Halfway down, 15 minutes late, a thought occurs to me. "Do they feed you lunch, Brandon?" He shakes his head and giggles. "No." "Where do you normally get your lunch?" "My mom makes me a sandwich." Great. So off he goes to camp in huge shoes and no lunch. He promises he's gone without lunch before, but I ply him with our travel food granola bars anyway, which of course he leaves in the car. His counselor must think I'm completely moronic.

Tomorrow we're headed for South Dakota, via Devil's Tower. I'm sure there will be more excitement to publish then.

604 miles, Burley, Idaho
The day started lazily with a hike outside of Cascade Locks to the top of a fall. Although, my shoe came apart on the way down, which I should have taken for an ominous sign… but I didn’t. I was annoyed that my sandal broke, until I remembered that these sandals had been bought for $20 at a Thom McCann for my first road trip in 1994. Those sandals deserved to die.

Anyway, the day moved on. And on. And on. Having only driven 207 miles the first day, we were determined to get well into Idaho today. I don’t remember my days being this long when I drove myself. But then I wasn’t in a black car on 96 degree days with no air-conditioning and no caffeine (this dull nagging headache will go away soon…it has to!). At one point, I realized that my left side was getting sunburned, so I insisted on driving a bit to even out the color. Only it seems that I’ve forgotten how to drive a stick and I got a road full of curves, so the experiment lasted quite briefly. So we drove. And drove. And drove. Stopped in Boise for dinner at about 7:30. After, we figured we’d drive about another hour and stop for the night. So we stopped for gas… and that’s when I discovered that my credit card was gone. Ugh. I’m sure I dropped it somewhere, but we searched the car to no avail. Which was minorly stressful, but not too big a deal, since Adam has a credit card and I still have a bank card. So, now we’re tired and it’s 10 p.m. and I’m out one credit card. “We can stop in Glenns Ferry,” I told Adam, who I’m a little worried about, because he’s looking a little droopy eyed. Only, there are no motels in Glenns Ferry. All the friggin’ mileage signs have Glenns Ferry, it’s a bigger name on the map, but no motels. And another 50 miles to Twin Falls. Okay, fine. So we pull into Twin Falls at about 11:15 p.m. And it’s full. Not a single room in a single hotel at all. Period. Now, it’s on to Burley. We pull into a Best Western at midnight. They have only the Bridal Room and the Executive Room left. Adam asks me, “Should we look around for a cheaper room?” The man is insane. “NO!” We took the bridal room (which is bridal, because…?) for a whopping $30 more than our budget. But we slept. And it was good. And tomorrow is another day.

Not a Good Day to Give Up Caffeine…
Moving day. Started with a 5:30 a.m. phone call from an insurance agent in Boston who didn’t realize area code 206 was in another state. Movers said they were showing at 8 a.m., so the night before was a rush to throw whatever was left in boxes. It was an emotional day all around, so we decided as soon as the movers were done, we’d take off. I’d actually seen a fair number of people in the previous week. People dropped by to say “hey” as we were packing, which meant a lot to me. But no “good-byes.” I was steadfast in the no “good-byes.”

Walking through the empty house was surreal. It was completely different from when I first walked through it: the shag carpet was replaced by hardwood and fir floors, tobacco-stained walls repainted, new sinks, new tiling, new counters, new colors, new roof, new outside paint, a garden instead of the horrible juniper-filled lawn. Walking through the empty house made me realize just how small it is. Adam and I have all these grand plans for our new house, and on my tour of the old house, I have to laugh at all the things I was going to get done “first thing” that never got done. The cutting board sitting in the basement for the cabinets that I was going to replace right away because it was such an “easy fix”; the broken drawer I was going to repair; the medicine cabinet that needed hardware to shut. I wonder what Adam and I will actually get to in our new house.

And yes, I’m trying to wean myself off caffeine. On my last official physical while I’m still an insured person, the doctor suggested it.

The Move
The movers took about 5 hours to load up the truck, which was surprising to me, because I didn’t realize how much stuff I had accumulated over the past couple of years (which, of course, would include Adam and all his belongings, but since I made him get rid of all his furniture before he moved in, I didn’t think it was that much. Adam’s a small guy. In fact, when he moved in, before we were engaged, I was telling the Tweedle Twirp, “Yeah, he’s not bringing his bed or his couch… or his lamp, now that I think of it.” “What is he bringing?” “Um, I’m okay with his Dunkin Donut mug.” “This is so he can never leave, right? ‘Get out now! But all you can take is your Dunkin Donut mug. He’ll have nowhere to sleep, sit, or read, he’ll only be able to have a cup of coffee, so he’ll have to stay!”). It took an hour when I moved in. I roped about 12 friends and convinced them to help me move. Bill showed up and I said to him, “Hey, guess what, you’re driving the truck!” I may have been bossy, but that was the fastest move in the history of moves.

While the movers worked, I lay around. Took a nap in the car. At one point, I became sentimental, so Adam and I walked down to Ballard Market to buy wax paper, so I could cut flowers from our garden to press. In our already overfilled trunk, right now, is a Seattle phone book stuffed with flowers.

So Now We’re Off
So at about 2:30, we hit the road. We stopped at Barnes and Noble to pick up a Lonely Planet: USA, since on this trip we’ll actually stop along the way. We’re also armed with Roadside America, which was a present from my girlfriends. Our first destination is Wilson, Wyoming, which is just outside of Jackson Hole. My aunt and uncle live there so we thought we’d pass through. Rather than take I-90 across, Adam suggested we first go to Portland, and head across on I-84. That way, we could make our final pilgrimage to Powells, the finest books store in the world, bar none. The only problem with this idea is that I’ve only traveled I-90 east a handful of times. I’ve done the I-5 route millions of times, and it was one long reminder of what I’m leaving. From leaving U-District (where I started the STP with Eugene, Todd, Scott, Laura, and Kate in the Montlake parking lot; Husky Stadium where I ran the Beat the Bridge race Mary, Jen, Sandra, Pam, Juliewa, Julie P., and Pam; the IMA where I used to play racquetball with Andy in my grad school days), passing through the city (the new REI where I suited up for my first local camping trip with Rico and Steve; passing the building my father named for me [“Look at that tall building! I think we should name it the Jenny Building”]; passing US1 and 2 in the International District, where I’ve worked the past bunch of years; Safeco field, where Adam and I had one of our earliest dates). Different signs along I-5 make me think of other adventures: Yakima, my first wine trip with Barb, Andy, Steve, Rico, and Jill (anyone remember Jill?); Mt. Ranier, hikes with that same crowd, snowshoeing with Jeff; Puyallup, going to the fair with Marc. Yeah, yeah, now I’m being self-indulgent and sentimental. So now, let’s get on with this trip.

Homeless
Did I say we were going to go to Portland? The great thing about working is you forget what day of the week it is. Which means you think nothing when you’re husband says, “We should go through Portland”… on a sunny summer afternoon… in July… on a Friday. Yikes. The normal 3-hour trip took 5 hours. Five very cranky hours. But we made it, and I exercised extreme control at Powell’s, buying only one WPA guide (which I sort of collect. I say I collect them, but I’ve only got 5 now. However, I figure 3 make a collection, so I collect them, dammit!). There was a beautiful pristine copy of the New Orleans guide, but it was on the pricey side and I actually already have New Orleans, so I didn’t splurge. I’m collecting because I love the guides—not for the value of the books (everyone know what the WPA guides are? They’re a series of guide books put out during the Depression to keep writers working and to encourage this new-fangled way of traveling: by car).

So right now we’re at a Motel 6 just outside of Portland, on I-84, and today we continue our trip east. Notable conversation of late:
After I declare a need to be entertained, Adam tells me a story of two of his friends who are inseparable.
J: Why aren’t we inseparable?
A: Because when we’re together for too long, you get cranky and want me to go away.
J: I think we should be inseparable.
A: You might want to think about that for a little bit, before you ask for it…

It’s going to be a long trip, folks!

Okay, the movers are coming at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning, so this is most likely my last official Blog on my Seattle home computer. As soon as I'm done with this, I'm going to pack my lovely flat-screened monitor, ergonomic keyboard, and DSL-connected computer and start using my hand-me-down laptop. When the movers are done in the morning, we'll get in Adam's air-conditioner-free car and hit the road. We'll be headed first to Wilson, Wyoming, to visit my aunt and uncle, and then we'll be driving more or less aimlessly to get to Boston by about July 29th or so.

I'm feeling emotional today, and I imagine it will only get worse. There's no point in describing it here--everyone knows how much I'll miss them and how much I'll long for Seattle. So no more. Not for now. Now, I'll just keep packing.

Bye from Seattle!

A Web site about our new home town, if you're interested. Who knew Click and Clack lived there? Enough reason alone to like Arlington.

Say That to My Blog
Thanks so much to Grant for showing me that fast and easy way to throw up a comments link (and thanks to BlogOut for making is so darn easy!). So now instead of e-mailing me your witty asides and criticisms of what I've posted, you may post it yourself for the world to read. Have at it!

Not Procrastinating
By the way, I really am packing. I'm not sitting here in front of my computer working on my Blog. No, not me. Uh uh, no way.

Four Days and Counting
Hard to believe my Seattle life is almost at an end. I'm really trying not to think about it. My friends have been so awesome: throwing us bbqs, making photo albums for us, giving us stuff for our road trips, bringing us food while we pack. In return, I think what we're going to do is sneak out of town and not say good-bye. Seriously! Good-bye is too difficult and too final. I'd rather leave as if I were going on vacation. I mean, I will be back. Soon. Often. Really. No good-byes.

The Biggest Geek in America
I was wondering why Adam was so happily willing to pack up in the basement. He didn't even ask, just ran downstairs and began working. But then I went down and saw that he hooked up his computer down there so he can listen to the Red Sox game over the Internet. Big geek.

We're going home today, we're going home! Yeah! I'm so excited to start getting stuff done again. We did go to Sherwin Williams yesterday to start looking at colors (how excited was I when I saw they carry Martha Stewart colors!). We signed the purchase and sale agreement on the house and put down 10%. Now we have to finalize the mortgage and do lots of nitpicky stuff (utilities, DSL, phones, etc.) while packing up and shutting things off at home. I've even already changed my zip code in amy Amazon.com Movie Showtimes so that it displays Arlington/Boston movies. We're getting closer... Although I still don't know what we're going to do for those 10 days. We're back to thinking maybe we will drive across country in his car and do a little sightseeing.

The heat is unbearable. I'm completely antsy without a routine, without a schedule. Tomorrow we head back to Seattle and I'm anxious to start packing and to get a move on things. I do not do well idle. Speaking of idle, still have no idea what Adam and I are going to do for the 10 days between our Seattle house closing and our Boston house closing. I don't think I can handle another week and a half of just sitting around waiting. We've scoped out Home Depot and Sears and are ready to jump into our house projects... if only we could get into our house.

The Curse of the Bambino
I truly hadn't thought there was anything more boring than a Seattle Mariners game. Until I went to a Boston Red Sox game....

• At least at Safeco Field, should the desire strike me, I could watch the game. I would look up from my seat, and see the game. At Fenway, when I looked up, I had a perfect view of the rotating billboard (Mach 3 razors, Power Strip on Right Guard, and Duracell Copper Tops, in case you were wondering). If I leaned forward in my seat and twisted my body completely to the left, I could sort of see the game.
  
• At Safeco if you couldn't see what was going on, you could pick a monitor and watch it. At Fenway, there was one monitor so you could either see the line-up or the score or the action, but never all at once.
  
• No flash. No fancy boards that read "Edgar is good" (or "Nomar is good" as the case may be).
  
• At Safeco, there's room in your seat for you to sit with a little wiggle room. At Fenway, your leg is plastered to the guy next to you and there's no where to put a jacket or a purse if you're not holding it in your lap.
  

Of course, it didn't help that Adam forced me to eat an entire bag of cotton candy. Bleah. Felt sick all afternoon. And there's no sushi at Fenway. What kind of baseball stadium doesn't serve sushi? Luckily, I had Mine Hunt on my Handspring, so the day wasn't a complete loss. I did get pretty good at the "difficult" level.

The Curse of the Pimpmobile
Story from last week that I never got around to telling. It's the tale of a car gone mad, the hideous story of a vehicle out for revenge. Now, I'm not saying the pimpmobile is possessed or anything, but the facts are: 1) the car was owned by my grandmother with whom I have gone in and out of favor with over the years 2) the car obviously hates me.

Adam and I are driving along Route 1A on our way to Swampscott for a party extraordinaire. This is a former coworker of Adam's who now lives in San Fran, but his folks are still out here, and they hold an annual party on July 3. Adam's friend and his girlfriend are also out, as an added bonus, so we're psyched to go. We leave Natick, MA, at 6:43 p.m. It is a one-hour drive. At 7:17 p.m., in the Callahan Tunnel, I say to Adam, "What's that noise?" It's a flap-flap-flap-flap-flap noise. It slows down when we slow down. "Hmmm, must be something in the trunk that's rustling." Drive a little farther. At 7:21 p.m., I ask, "Is that noise getting louder?" At 7:23 p.m. I pull into the Wonderland Marketplace in Revere, MA, with a flat tire flatter than... (well, insert your own derogatory remark about someone you know. I was thinking about picking on Sandra, but I will let the moment pass). No problem. Adam can fix a flat. True, he's never fixed a flat before, but it's simple! And we have a full-sized spare. Except...

This is the pimpmobile. She's not called the pimpmobile for nothing. The pimpmobile has custom tires with wheel covers. Gold wheel covers. And the wheel covers are screwed on. With a screw obviously put in with an air drill by the Toyota service folks who aligned my tires. A stripped screw obviously put in with an air drill. It ain't budging. At 7:29 p.m., the call goes in to AAA (man, have we gotten our money's worth this year).

We wait. And wait. And wait. Big burly men come by and try to help, convinced that they can overpower the screw. They can't. They slink off in defeat. A white-trash girl drives into the lot, a boy jumps out screaming, "Have a nice life, you piece of shit," and begins running with all his might. The girl hauls out of the car, yells, "Get your fucking ass back here!" and tears after him. 8:04 p.m. Triple A calls. They can't find us. They'll be there in a minute. Adam and I begin trying to flag down any pickup that looks remotely like a tow truck. Only in Revere, where they raise trucks and add lights, that's every pickup.

At 8:24 p.m. I call back. "Oh, right. They'll be there in 10 minutes."

8:35 p.m., the surliest tow truck driver comes by. Gets up to the tire, snorts at Adam, and then goes at the screw. At 8:37, he gives up. Mumbles, "Gotta go back to the shop for tools." At 8:42, he returns with a drill and by 8:45 our spare is in place. Adam uses the Huggie wipes in the road pack my friends made me (and I laughed at them! Very useful thing!), and off we got to Swampscott.

Or so we think. This being the 3rd of July, there are fireworks. (Okay, so this sentence makes no sense to me. Everywhere that I've been, fireworks have been on the 4th of July. Not around the 4th of July. What is with this place?). Our directions take us right by the beach. Which is blocked off. For fireworks. From Revere, MA, to Swampscott, MA (which by the way, is a cool name. Try saying it with me. Swampscott. Swampscott. Nice flow), is about 10 or 15 minutes. If there are no fireworks. If you don't get lost.

I'll skip the three phone calls for directions. I'll skip the waitingwaitingwaitingwaitingwaiting in traffic. I'll forget our hunger and fatigue because our day was so busy all we'd had was Dunkin Donuts and coffee.

Finally, at 10:42 p.m. we arrive at the bbq that started at 7 p.m. Bless Marc for putting more ribs on the grill for us and handing me that beer.

Moral of the story: No custom tires. No locked lug nuts. No not eating all day. And most of all, that car HATES me!

The low-point of my marriage. Actual conversation while walking down the streets of Portsmouth:
J: Rub my neck.
A. starts to massage neck.
J: Sometimes I worry that you'll hit my Vulcan point, and I'll just collapse on the street.
A: It's not a Vulcan point, it's a Vulcan grip.
J: Maybe it's a combination of the grip and the point.
A: It's not the point; it's Vulcans who know how to do the grip.
J: Really?
A: Can we please not have this conversation ever again?

So it seems all of New England is in mourning today. The front page of The Boston Globe is all Ted Williams. I feel very disconnected since a) I'm not truly a Red Sox fan (but please don't tell Adam) and b) I find baseball to be berry, berry boring (does anyone remember that sketch besides my father?). We are going to see a game tomorrow, which I'm looking forward to even less since Adam told me that Fenway is probably the most uncomfortable stadium ever. Joy. The best baseball news I heard today was that there may be another baseball strike.

Spoke for a while with the family currently living in our new house. Really, really interesting folks. As I said to Adam, it's a shame they're the ones moving because they'd be really cool neighbors to have. They've been in Uzbekistan for the past six years, coming home during the summers. Their son lives in the house now. They have elementary- and junior-high-aged kids who live with them. Speak great Russian apparently.

I finished reading Mike Daisey's 21 Dog Years: Doing Time @ Amazon.com . It really wasn't as harsh on Amazon as it was on Daisey. Basically, this guy worked for a couple of years at Amazon, first in CS and then in Biz Dev. He was a slacker before he got to Amazon and he was a slacker while at Amazon. A very fast read. Not worth buying though. Happy to lend it to anyone who would like to read it. The most interesting part is there's a decent-sized riff on this guy "Catch" who is obviously Scott (big legendary parties for 300+ people; starting an Internet dog food company in his apartment on the side). So it might be worth reading for anyone who knows him. I didn't recognize anyone else in the book (well, except for Jeff and Risher who were named by name).

Hanging in Portsmouth right now at Adam's parents place. It's quite beautiful up here. A lot nicer than when I was here in December in one of the coldest stretches I'd ever experienced.

I've been really bad about keeping my notebook with me. Throughout the day I think, "Oh, I'll have to put that in my blog," but I, of course, always forget. When I get settled, I want to redesign my page. After using so many different computers, I notice that my home page appears really different in different browsers. I like Eugene's blog's redesign a bunch. I'll have to play around. When I have free time, of course. Or should I say If. By the way, it was pointed out that I don't have a link to Adam's blog in here. On my main page I have a link to his main page, but I think most people link straight to this blog. So, feel free to dive into his blog to get his side of things. I'll add a link here eventually.

If you've been having trouble getting to the blog, it's us, not you. Our server location is changing, which caused (will cause? is causing?) some downtime.

Right now I'm killing time in the Natick library waiting for Adam to get in. Last night I killed time by going to a movie. Anywere indoors. Today it's supposed to hit 96 degrees. Anyway, as I told Adam, there are lots of things that are forgivable. But some, some are completely unforgivable. Moving me to Boston. Forgivable. Launching me into a job search. Forgivable. Making certain movies off-limits so I'm forced to see Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisters. Unforgivable. I blame Sandra for putting the thought into my head that it would be a decent movie. What was I thinking, taking recommendations from Sandra? That is my own fault. Anyway, I figure someone owes me $9, I'm just not sure who.

House inspection today at 1 p.m. Feeling a little nervous about showing the place to Adam. I'm not sure why I should be concerned: he's too easygoing to not like it.

My new home away from Kinko's: the Natick public library. Would be great, except there's a time limit on the machines and the librarian is a beast.

The weather right now? A balmy 92 degrees. I've pretty much given up the idea of running. Doesn't seem to ever cool off. Once Adam gets here and things settle a little more (and this headache goes away), perhaps I'll start again. Speaking of Adam, he's busy trying to have his last day of work, only I've been calling him every five minutes with more errands he needs to get done before he flies out tonight. And of course, he's taking a super shuttle, which means he'll need to leave about three hours early. Good thing he's an expert multitasker.

Doing this on Netscape, which is too different. I like my old IE much better.

The drivers out here suck big time. When they want to make a left turn, the cross into the middle of the street and just hang out. Or, better, they stick their arms out the window in a "stop" signal to the ongoing traffic. Everyone does it. Annoying.

I had an informational interview with someone yesterday. I told him how disappointed I was that I didn't get a number in the New York marathon. "You should run the Boston marathon!" I told him I could never qualify for it. He shook his head. "Not a problem. You want to run the marathon, you let me know. I can get you a number." Whoo hoo! Making friends in the right places.

Tomorrow is the house inspection. Hope it all goes well. Did I mention why the folks are selling their house? They're missionaries... and they're going to Uzbekistan! And here I thought they were Jewish, with their Hebrew-English dictionaries and their Star of David on the fridge and their Semitic-sounding last name. On third look around the house I noticed the New Testament sayings and the bible study awards. No wonder they didn't mind leaving the porch swing behind! Uzbekistan does not seem like the place to drink lemonade on the porch swing.