UPDATE: Take a listen to three first-time players giving it a shot by clicking here (The game itself starts roughly 9 minutes in), or scroll to the bottom for the new FAQ.

Official Rules
(Drinking Game w/ 2 bottles of wine and 3 players)

A “Celebrity” is defined as someone [Living or Dead, Fictional or Real] with a name recognizable to most people. Politicians, Sports Stars, Actors, Singers, Rappers, Poets, Cartoon Characters, and Tabloid Headliners are all fair game.

To Play:
Player 1 names a celebrity. The person to their left has 10 seconds to name a celebrity who’s FIRST name begins with the initial letter of the LAST Name of Player 1’s choice.

If they succeed, the next person in line must take the first letter of the LAST name of Player 2’s choice, etc.

Example:
Player 1: Pam Anderson
Player 2: Al Gore
Player 3: Greg Kinnear
Player 1: Kevin Spacey
Player 2: Sarah Jessica Parker
Player 3: Pauly Shore.

If a player names someone with the same initial for both first and last name (Marilyn Monroe, Ronald Reagan, Bill Bixby) then play reverses direction and the previous player has to take a drink and go again. Single-named people (Madonna, Seal, Jewel) are the same as double-initial names (Mickey Mouse, Marilyn Manson, Susan Sarandon)

Example:
Player 1: Davy Jones
Player 2: John Mellencamp
Player 3: Micky Mantle
Player 2: (takes a drink) Micky Roarke
Player 1: Richard Marx
Player 3: Maude Adams
Player 2: Amy Grant
Player 1: Gary Cooper
Player 3: Cary Grant
Player 2: George Thorogood
Player 1: Tommy Tutone
Player 2: (takes a drink) Tina Fey
Player 3: Frank Sinatra.

If you take more than 10 seconds, that’s a drink.

If you repeat a name, that’s a drink.

If you blurt out a name when it’s not your turn, that’s a drink.

No name can be used twice for the duration of the game.

If your 10 seconds are up and you “take the penalty drink”, it’s still your turn.

If you accidently use a name that’s already used, you have to take a drink and it’s still your turn.

Your turn will repeat as long as it takes for you to come up with a “correct” answer.

If you blurt out a name when it’s not your turn, that name is still up for grabs

Play ends when the 2 bottles are empty. Takes about 30-45 minutes.

Add one bottle of wine for every 2 additional players.

The non-alcoholic variation is to get a “potato” for every “drink”, and winner is the person with the fewest “potatoes” after a set time has elapsed.

The game is harder than it sounds and is much more fun with a buzzer or bell.

FAQ

Q: I want to get drunker faster, Can I use hard liquor instead of wine?
A: You can, but the game will only last five minutes and all of the players will be vomiting in an hour.

Q: What about beer? Beer has less alcohol than wine. Can we use that?
A: You can, but beer adds three complications.
1. Beer is carbonated. (a. it speeds the absorption of alcohol – making it easier to zip right past “tipsy and witty” and zoom into “drooling and belligerent” before you know it. b. it promotes “repeats” and “underbubbles”. )
2. With beer, people tend to forget the drinking rules. (a. They just sip it the whole time. b. They start taking micro-sips when they should be taking penalty sips. )
3. Beer comes in 24, 36, and 72 packs. The end of the game is too vague. It’s about splitting a bottle, not splitting a case.

Q: I think that the person should start drinking at the beginning of their turn, and keep drinking until they come up with a name.
A: That’s not really a question. Also, it’s been tried. Just like with liquor, you’ll have vomiting players in just over an hour.

Twitter is a social medium. Like all social media, it empowers its users to influence those who follow one another.

The purist form of this influence is #FollowFriday, the weekly Twitter ritual where you share a link to someone “upstream” that you follow, so those “downstream” from you can get in on the action.

This week, I’m doing something different: Six Degrees of Separation

I’m exploring the line of influence, both up and down from my place in the line.

#6DegreesUp
This is an exploration of who on Twitter are influencing the people who are influencing me.

To find my #6DegreesUp person, I click on someone I’m following, then click on someone THEY are following, then someone THEY are following, etc. until I get to the sixth person from me. I will then follow that person, cutting the five “middlemen” out of the influence chain.

#6DegreesDown
This is an exploration of who on Twitter may be influenced by the people I may be influencing.

To find my #6DegreesDown person, I click on someone following me, then on someone following them, then someone following THEM, etc. until I get to the sixth person down. I will then follow that person and wait to see if they follow me back (cutting out the middlemen in that direction).

Staring from Me (@NeuroticNomad):
@adrianhewlett #6DegreesUp #FollowFriday
@Marielhemingway #6DegreesDown #FollowFriday.

I love this apartment.

I moved in only 10 months ago, in the middle of a heat wave. It’s a third floor walkup, with a view to die for – and carrying all my stuff I felt like I was going to.

I’m moving out because, in spite of falling rent prices all over town, my landlord us going to up my rent. Oh well.

If anyone is interested, it’s the top floor of the tallest building on the top of the hill in Phinney Ridge. You can’t miss it.

Oh, and I left something on the wall.

This move is an interesting one, now that I can no longer drive.

[UPDATE: I'm kinda moved. I'm in a basement at the bottom of the hill. Talk about extremes!]

There are some signs of aging you can’t deny: A creaky body, gray hair, wrinkles…

But there are signs that come before then that many people just can’t (or won’t) see. So how do you know when it has happened to you? Take my Neurotic Aging Quiz and find out.

The Top 10 Signs You Have Become Your Parents

1. “That’s Not Real Music” – This one comes in many variations. Sometimes it’s not music, it’s noise. Other times it’s not music because it was made by a formula band made by a corporation. Then there is the non-music made by non-singers who didn’t write their songs and don’t play their instruments.

This one is easy to deny because you can just tell yourself that you have better taste than those who listen to “that stuff”.

Question #1: How many of the bands you listen to have members with grown children? If it’s more than 3, give yourself a point.

2. “They Don’t Make Them Like They Used To” – This one also comes in many variations. Maybe something you “just bought” a couple of years ago broke and you lament how long the previous one lasted. Maybe you want to buy something new and it’s either different or no longer available.

This one is easy to deny because you can tell yourself that crappy build quality and stupid product changes have nothing to do with age.

Question #2: Remember metal Tonka trucks? How about Shrinky Dinks? If so, give yourself another point.

3. “That Kid In Accounting” – Referring to any adult younger than you as a “kid” when you describe them.

Question #3: Not really a question. I know you do it. One point if the person described is old enough to vote, two if they are old enough to have a college degree, three if they have teenagers at home.

4. “I Hate Touchscreens” – After age 22, change is much more difficult. I remember in the late 80s how many people resisted the computer mouse (most of them over the age of 30), but by 1995 everyone was using one. I remember in the late 70s and early 80s how resistant people over 40 were to ANYTHING computerized. (Robot Bank Tellers? Laser codes on groceries? Digital watches? NEVER!)

My advice now is the same as it was then: Ask someone closer to 15 than to 30 to explain it to you, then try to have some patience and an open mind as you actually listen to their answer rather than arguing with it.

Question #4: Have you ever waited in an extra long line at the movies rather than use their touchscreen machine to buy tickets? If you answered “Yes, because they charge extra”, give yourself two points. The second is for worrying about a cost markup equivalent to a pack of gum while paying Box Office Prices.

5. “The iPhone Sucks” – This one is easy to deny, because there are plenty of young people who hate the iPhone.

Question #5: Do you wish cell phones would go back to just making phone calls and nothing else? If so, that’s a point.

6. “Oh, Big Deal!” – When you embarrass your kids, it is SOOOO amusing. They make such a huge deal over every single thing that it’s easy to deny that they probably SHOULD be embarrassed by some of your behavior.

Question #6: Have you ever borrowed your teenager’s clothes and worn them in public? One point if you’re female, three if you’re male.

7. “They’re All The Same!” Political Stereotyping – You believe that all members of one party are bad/stupid/wrong-headed/exactly-the-same and all members of “the opposite” party are good, hardworking, caring, smart people. You consider anything other than Republican or Democrat to be “Third” Party.

This one is easy to deny, because very young people make the same error.

Question #7: Do you think all politicians (with only a few exceptions) are dirty? If yes, give yourself a point. If you think it’s worse than it used to be, give yourself another.

8. The “I’m SO OLD!” Paradox – This one we tend to observe more in our friends than ourselves.

Question #8: Have you ever complained that your friend complained about their body, and then compared your ailments to theirs? That’s another point.

9. The “I’m NOT OLD!” Denial (aka The Mid-Life Crisis). When the first of the Boomers hit this age it no longer became a verboten topic. There are hundreds of books, movies, newspaper articles, magazine stories, and stage plays that cover this topic.

#8 and #9 are two sides of the same coin. Neither one can accept that life consists of anything other than “Young” and “Old”.

Question #9: Do you think that you are “barely” middle-aged? Two points. Three if you consider yourself “Youngish” or have described yourself as “not that old”.

10. “I’m Not As Old As My Parents Were At This Age”. 30 is the new 25. 40 is the new 30. 50 is the new 40. Soon 70 will be the new 55.

Question #10: Are you mature? Two points if yes, two points if no.

Three points if you think Question #10 was referring to age instead of attitude.

OK. Time to score the test. If you read to the end and kept score, not only have you become your parents – you’re also geeky. If you sent someone this link, you have a good attitude about it.

– Nomad.

Found @ The Grip

If you not only had the power to filter out all news about Linsay Lohan and/or Paris Hilton for the rest of your life, but were forced to choose one or die, which would you choose?

At first blush I would say: Who cares? Filter them both. Ugh!

But then I stopped and thought about it. Which one is more likely to be relevant to my life in a few decades? Which one may have an interesting career, even in an ironic way, which I might find amusement? Which one is likely to disappear off the face of the earth, thereby allowing me a de facto “both”? Which one will I less want to see in unflattering tabloid photos (again), perhaps years or even decades from now?

Hmm.

Relevant to my life? Well, Ms. Hilton is a hotel heiress. The Hilton Hotels are, if I’m not mistaken, one of the few successful American businesses that’s still All-American. Is there any way she could eventually hold sway in the decision-making at that company? If she could tank the company, would that indirectly affect me any less than AIG, GM, McDonald’s or American Airlines?

Why risk it? One strike for Lohan.

Which one may have an interesting career, even in an ironic way, which I might find amusement? I never saw House of Wax or The Hottie and the Nottie and the rest of Ms. Hilton’s career seems to be cameo appearances as herself (which was her off-screen job between “Slut” and “Actress”). Ms. Lohan on the other hand was in the wonderful Mean Girls and several tolerable-for-adults Disney titles. If you’ve ever had to endure crappy children’s programming, you know that Herbie Fully Loaded looks like Ocsar Gold next to The Lion King 14: Poomba Takes A Nap.

Hmm. One strike for Hilton.

Which one is likely to disappear off the face of the earth, thereby allowing me a de facto “both”? That one’s easy. In the short term, neither, but in the long haul, Lindsay is just an actress. Filtering Hilton could give me hope for a Twofer.

A second strike for Paris.

Which one will I less want to see in unflattering tabloid photos (again), perhaps years or decades from now?

They’re both tearing the hell out of their bodies, but skrawny people show it less over the years. Gravity and time will not be kind to The Lohanator, especially when compared with Mistress Parisimo for which time will only have a “jerky”-ing effect.

Strike two, Lohan.

Now it’s tied, 2 to 2.

What’s the tie-breaker?

AT&T “iPhones” T-Mobile.
…
T-Mobile “$50 Datas” Verizon.
…
Verizon “Bigger Networks” AT&T

What’s the Rock Paper Scissors Lizard Spock version?

(Photo via ThinkGeek.com T-Shirt.)

I’ve had two apartments, two jobs, and met an Oscar Nominee since my last tweet.

“Since ‘glaucoma’ is not a single disease, there is no typical ‘glaucoma patient’, or single best ‘glaucoma treatment’.”
– Atlas of Glaucoma By Neil T. Choplin, Diane C. Lundy

I was 23 years old when I was told that I was going blind.

They told me that because of my age and the severity of the progress I should expect to be plunged into total darkness in five years.

That was fifteen years ago.

Talk about procrastination! I am way behind on my blindness.
I totally keep forgetting to lose more eyesight.

Of course, I’m not your typical glaucoma patient(nsfw).

The band’s name is Blame Ringo.
The first single off their debut album “Lucky Number Nine” is called Garble Arch. The video is a time-lapse video of a typical day of a famous crosswalk.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aKCG3zMEsYs

Blame Ringo are a band on a unique mission.
They are using the power of song to Blame Ringo for everything.
From the break up of the Beatles to teen pregnancy to communism and the rise of Hitler. Ringo is to blame for it all.

They take a mixture of good-natured ribbing and over-the-top accusations to make a pretty funny gimmick.

According to this video, I am to assume Ringo is to blame for pedestrian traffic on a busy street.

It’s a cute video, check it out.

Why are they doing this?

Their band was originally called “Goodnight Vienna”.

So?

Apparently, Ringo had an album by that name.

…and?

And apparently he thought this band was trying to bank on the album’s immense popularity.

What?!? I’ve never heard of it.

It doesn’t matter. Ringo is claiming ownership of that pair of words.

Instead of going broke fighting him in court, they changed their name. Problem solved.

They weren’t trying to profit off Ringo before, but they are now!

Unfortunately for Ringo, there’s nothing he can do about it.
Also unfortunately for him… they are big Beatles fans, so they know a lot about the man.
(Except, like me, that he had an album named Goodnight Vienna. I mean, seriously… who would remember something like that?!? Besides, that’s what every live performer says at the end of a show. Goodnight [name of city]! How can he OWN that!? Geez.)

As I took the first bite, I considered what it would be like to sell all my belongings and live inside this pie. I could beg on the street for spare change and sleep in a shelter made of scotch tape and Marie Callender’s Pot Pie Empties.

The texture of the individual, perfectly cooked bits – bits that actually tasted like the vegetables they resembled – caught me off guard. I fell into eternity’s arms as I punched through the golden, buttery crust again and again. The chicken was moist and tender. A creamy sauce made of real parmesan cheese covered everything without drowning anything.

I blinked and realized that as I was daydreaming that I had been shoveling it into my gaping maw in a gastronomical orgy and had somehow already swallowed half the pie.

As the remaining amount dwindled I wondered what kind of ugly, shameful, Less Than Zero lengths I would go to to get one more bite.

Then it was gone.

Not only is Steve Jobs at death’s door… his beloved mock turtleneck’s days are numbered as well.

This photo from the Sydney Morning Herald shows the dramatic change.

The fashion press was stunned today to learn that the turtleneck, which has been a constant companion to Mr. Jobs for so long, was ill.

“I’m shocked. Just shocked. I have no words” says Julian Scravner, Senior editor of Karma Coverings. “I mean… all things must pass, but you can’t really ever prepare for news like this.”

Rumors began swirling at last year’s MacWorld Expo when the garment appeared bloated and jaundiced, it’s neck exaggeratedly long.

It was reported that Mr. Jobs’ glasses was overheard saying that the “microphone” was nothing more than a brace. A spokeman for Apple, Inc. said that there was no truth to the rumor, and a law firm representing Mr. Jobs’ glasses issued a statement denying the comment, but now today we know the truth.

Steve Jobs, in an uncharacteristically candid moment had this to say: “Last July, after the iPhone 3G was released and MobileMe was crashing, I thought it looked a little off. I said to my shirt… you look a little green. It didn’t answer. I assumed everything was okay. Now I just know it just wanted its privacy.”

Mr. Jobs was wearing a blue button-down at the time.

Digg @ http://digg.com/apple/Steve_Jobs_Turtleneck_Is_Sick_Too

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

Its the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

Its the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled – Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

Its the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

Its been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and hes fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nations promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nations next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy thats coming with us to the White House. And while shes no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics – you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what youve sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to – it belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didnt start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington – it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generations apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.

I know you didnt do this just to win an election and I know you didnt do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime – two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how theyll make the mortgage, or pay their doctors bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America – I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you – we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who wont agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government cant solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way its been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years – block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, its that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers – in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House – a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, We are not enemies, but friends…though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn – I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world – our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down – we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security – we support you. And to all those who have wondered if Americas beacon still burns as bright – tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

For that is the true genius of America – that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one thats on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. Shes a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing – Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldnt vote for two reasons – because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that shes seen throughout her century in America – the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we cant, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when womens voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that We Shall Overcome. Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves – if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time – to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth – that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we cant, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

– Barack Obama
November 4, 2008

Our moving van pulled off of the farm road and onto the driveway, soon we would see the house.

When we arrived, we hugged the woman we’ve met only once and brought our overnight bags into the spare bedroom and passed out for ten hours. Then it was time to unload the moving van.

The cabin that we’ll be staying in isn’t move-in ready yet, so the bulk of our things are being stored in the barn. The barn is by the horse stable, next to the electric fence, with only a dirt trail leading up to it. Feeling adventurous, we take the moving van off road for the first time. It’s been raining for days so the ground is soft and the air is thick with humidity.

All of our furniture and half of our boxes fill the space in the barn. Then BioMom starts arranging things. Now I know where C gets her Tetris skills: genetics.

The rest of the things going in there fits with room to spare. The remaining boxes join us in the spare bedroom.

Suddenly we both become aware that we’re living with strangers. This will be an adventure.

As we crossed the Continental Divide, we escaped the thunderstorm and ran into a blizzard. The snow was flying sideways and the landscape turned completely white in under 15 minutes. Ice began to collect on the windshield wipers and the road in front of us. We continue on.

As the elevation drops, the snow turns to severe rain and we drive and drive trying to get ahead of it again. Lightening strikes nonstop in the sky above us as we cross the corner of Colorado and get into Western Kansas where it finally gets so bad that we have to pull over for a few hours.

Huddled together, we share a bag of pretzels and tell each other it will pass soon.

A six this morning, when we started moving east again, we find out about Greensburg – a town due south of us. They are reporting 63 injured, 7 dead, many missing, and 100% building damage. Everyone has lost their home.

The forecast says a 70% chance of more tornadoes sometime today. As we drive, the wind is blowing 45 miles per hour on our passenger side and it’s getting darker.

We’re pulled over in a truck stop in Ellis, Kansas watching the wind blow.

I don’t know how long we’ll be here.

During the night the sky opened up, but when we woke up at 7 the sky was a beautiful clear blue.

Caren went to grab our free breakfast (english muffins) while I vomited for an hour. My fever had kept us both up late into the night. Ok, it kept me up and I acted like a giant child and kept waking C up. She jumped out of bed at my every whiny whim without complaint. I finally left her alone by 3.

I dragged around the room while C packed up and rearranged the van. Tetris, her alter ego, was able to double our cabin space.

I climbed into the van’s passenger seat and we pulled out of the parking lot at 9:01.

Following the smiley man’s directions, we found our way back to the highway and began to head east. Ten minutes later the “Check Engine” light comes on.

C pulls over to the shoulder and calls Penske. They’re very glad to recieve our call. We’re number… FOURTEEN …in line. Sure, well wait for the first available representative to take our call.

As we sit on the lonely stretch of highway we can’t help but think of the 24 hours of putting boxes in the van as we consider the possibility of having to switch vehicles. I begin to sweat and shiver. C gives me Tylenol with codeine and I press myself against the increasingly colder glass. That’s when we notice the first snowflakes.

In the mirrors we see the dark clouds. In front of us is clear sky. C cranks the engine. The check engine light doesn’t come on, so she puts it in drive and we take off.

As we head southeast the snow stops, but the clouds are almost above us. The entire northwestern sky is pitch black, the entire southeastern sky is clear blue, and the line is right above us. The storm is chasing us.

For the entire day we stay just ahead of it. Whenever we stop for gas it catches us, but we’re able to outrun it, but then somewhere in Idaho the road curved south and the storm was coming toward us sideways.

We’d put a lot of miles between us, but it caught up with us in Ogden, Utah. Luckily, we switched highways and started heading east again.

The entire time, C has been driving. We make it to Evanston, Wyoming and 11 hours behind the wheel is all she can take.

Money is getting tight, so we have to shop around for a cheap place to stay. The clerk behind the desk of the Comfort Inn takes pity on us and gives us a discount.

We are now two days behind schedule.

Too tired to sleep to noon, we laid in bed and felt the ache of four 15-hours days and 12 hours of heavy boxes. Little did we know at the time we still had twelve more hours before the apartment was empty.

In a ironic twist the last of the boxes were filled with books, papers, and I think some lead bricks. As we moved at half speed, I could feel my arms getting longer. I imagined being able to tie my shoes without bending over and changing the TV channel sans remote control. Caren kept cramming more and more into the tiny moving van. At ten o’clock, the van was full. C says she’s so tired her whole body is humming. The only things left in the apartment was what was going in the front of the van with us, and the bed we were abandoning. (It was a craigslist freebie, anyway)

At midnight we turned off the lights and slept in our Seattle home for the last time.

Morning arrived and our new body aches made yesterday seem like a sneak preview. It took us an hour to fill the cooler, make sandwiches, and get out the door, but we’re finally off.

We take turns driving, switching every hundred or so miles, but it’s clear that we are too tired to continue. Crunch week was catching up fast. We were hoping to make it into Idaho before stopping, but the approaching dark clouds made us think better of it.

We pulled off into La Grande, Oregon. A small winding mountain road led us into the heart of the sleepy one-road town. We start to pull into the tiny Greenville Motel, but notice that The All-American Inn across the street has free WiFi.
The All-American Inn is typical Americana, with it’s glowing sign above a never-used swimming pool next to the parking lot.

The man behind the desk is all smiles. He recommends a good restaurant and lets us know how to get back to the highway. We thank him, take the key, and pass out in the bed for three hours before returning to the van to get any of our luggage.

When we wake up, it’s pouring rain. We decide to eat more sandwiches and catch up on Veronica Mars rather than venturing out. C gives me some Tylenol and makes me drink water. She says I’m sick, but I don’t believe her; although as I snap a few pictures I can’t help but notice how good the cold night air feels.

Deciding to be optimistic, we kept bringing out furniture. When we had nine modular dresser components, two bookshelves, two desks, and and four wire racks still left to be put in the truck – and it was 2/3 full, I reminded her that we still haven’t loaded a single box. This was just furniture. There are still acres of boxes piled ceiling high.

She stopped, squinched up her face, and became her alter-ego: Tetris. Tetris can work miracles. She strarted re-arranging the things in the van and somehow made a sofa, a table, two racks and a desk disappear. I kept bringing her boxes. Three and four at a time, as many as the dolly would allow. For three more hours I brought her boxes and somehow the truck got LESS full.

We were both walking back and forth to the apartment getting things, so we were pretty much always there, but we both stepped inside at the same time for about a minute… and that’s all it took. I needed help carrying the microwave stand. When we stepped out, their truck was backing up to our van and one guy was already standing in the street. Not skipping a beat, I called out “Hey! Oh, I thought you were our help for a minute there!” and played dumb.

The guy tried to cut us off, keep us distracted – but I already saw the second guy and didn’t stop walking. Now that we had the standing guy surrounded, he had to think fast. He friend in the truck almost left him. He asked where we got something, then asked where the store was. It was the worst small talk in history, then he bolted.

Now we had to guard the truck because we almost got ripped off once. This slowed things down.

By 6:30, most of the boxes are in the van, and it’s still only about 2/3 full. Caren is about ready to drop. I’m pretty tired too. We’ve not stopped moving for 11 hours… then it starts raining. That’s when we get the message that the new tenant will not be moving in tomorrow after all.

So, we got some handmade noodles from Judy Fu’s, and sat down, finally.

It’s 9:35. We’re sprawled on a mattress on the floor. C’s asleep, and I hope soon to be.

Now instead of finishing first then sleeping, it’s sleep first then finish. Instead of being finished by noon, we’re going to sleep until noon.

Our apartment is tiny. A shotgun 11′x34′ rectangle with an 8′x6′ bathroom attached. Around 7:30pm last night, we ran out of room to pack. The apartment was full. We couldn’t even open another box. We couldn’t pack any more until some of the boxes left this place. So we called a friend over, sat on the sofa, and watched Ugly Betty, Dirty Jobs, and The New Adventures of Old Christine we had on the TiVo.

Van day started @ 7am. Caren and S from downstairs (I really should learn his name) went to pick up the moving van while I guarded two parking spots and the driveway leading back to our apartment.

People were kind enough to mutter “fu**off” under their breath as they moved their cars for me. Pre-coffee dawn-ish is not the best time to be asking for favors.

Caren arrives with the van and we get it all situated. She jumps out and tells me that we got a free upgrade to the 15 foot because they were out of 12s. I thought we were getting an 18 or a 20. I begin to get nervous.

We begin the loading process going to the shed to get our GIANT WROUGHT IRON TABLE AND SIX GIANT CHAIRS. After that, the entertainment center. (2 bookshelves and a TV stand). The van is half full.

It’s 8:00am and I’m already tired.

Tonight, as a “we’ll miss you”, the two bachelors who live in the basement took me out. They’re really nice guys, but I’m five years older and fifteen years more married than either one of them, so for me it was like a night on safari. It was a real life Animal Planet, with beer and live music.

It didn’t start out that way. It started out as a nice dinner.

J and S had a party last night (their dog turned 3, so it was as good an excuse as any for loud music and beer). I threw some meat on the grill, met some of their friends, grabbed a bite, and said goodnight. C was better with the small talk, and I ended up meeting our newest neighbor. He reminds me of Steve Zahn. Nice guy; would have loved to have had him for a neighbor.

Anyway, so tonight J and I were going to hang out. He suggested food. He’s a food snob, so I was game for any place he suggested. He ended up taking me to this little Mediterranean place, where I ate incredible beef and impressive chicken. I also had my first two beers. J had a drink so strong that his leftover ice tasted like a tequila snow cone.

That’s when S called.

Two pitchers of beer later, the bar we’re in is getting boring in spite of the pictures of Telly Savalis, Steve Martin, Burt Reynolds taken from vintage magazines and turned into Men’s Room wallpaper. The pitt bull over by the pinball machine is now taking up a booth to itself, and the DJ has been spinning the same beat since the last time I went to the bathroom.

We grab Flex (S’s Boston Terrier) and we head to a place by the pier, under the viaduct, where three guys in leather and their drummer make eyes at the only three women in the place while they played Silverchair, The Darkness and Chris Isaac.

I hoot and holler and drink another beer. I bang my head. It’s been twenty years, my neck could use it. After the band finished their set, another Chandler and Joey who came out that night continued to drunkenly sing along to the Guns N’ Roses CD that played as the drummer packed up gear. I sang along, not knowing if I was enjoying it in an ironic or nostalgic way, and not caring. I had my fifth beer.

Most everyone was hanging out front. Some were smoking, all were drinking, and the homeless were asking for change. I struck up a conversation with a few of the underprivileged. Two were just guys on the hustle. One was a very sad woman, and two were the real deal. One man, Mike, took the time to talk to me like a person. He has a warm place for tonight, but who knows about tomorrow. Another man, I didn’t catch his name, sang me a song. He says he’d get a gig if he could… and he looked at his feet.

I thanked him for his time and went back to the huddled smokers in the tiny pen by the front door of the bar.

The guys in the band turned out to be cool guys, and I almost bummed a smoke from one but realized it’s been over two years since my last one and decided not to even tempt that demon.

Back into the bar, the Sing-along Twins are belting out Poison’s “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn”, and playing air guitar. That’s when I realize I haven’t thought about the herd of boxen in my kitchen for almost six hours.

Thanks Guys.

Caren had been thinking it for a while, but it slipped out quite accidentally.

C and her BioMom speak every few days. We get farm updates fand give packing updates. They’re becoming friends, and are just enjoying talking about everything and nothing.

Another horse is about to go into labor; one was just born. We rented out not only our apartment, but the empty one below it; so our landlords can go on their honeymoon with zero vacancies. BioStepDad’s Corvettte is running better. I made sourdough pancakes in a half-packed kitchen. Blah, blah blah. How’s the weather there. Hot? It’s nice here today, but rainy yesterday. Blah, blah. Well, I gotta go. Love you.

And then she realized she said it.

There was only a split second to panic before an excited squeal came out of the phone and a gush of ILOVEYOUTOO turned her panic to joy. She tried to say something else, but BioMom already said “okayallrightthenokaybye” and hung up the phone.

It was so cute.

They’ve talked a few times since then, and the calls end with I love you and I love you, too. Them moving van gets here in six days.

<— (Packing: Where the Past and Future Collide)

Vancouver, BC became “Seattle for a few months while we get approved for Permanent Resident status.” Without rat-race jobs you have to have proof of funds. $12659 Canadian. In the nearly three years we’ve been here, we’ve watched the exchange rate play with our emotions, but we stayed optimistic and saved our pennies.

Then, eight weeks ago, my wife found her birth mother.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

On April 30, we will be picking up our moving van and moving to a small farm in Texas to get to know the family.

We flew out once, but stayed in a hotel. These ARE strangers, after all.

C’s parents kept in touch with each other over the years, so when we visited we were able to meet her birth father as well. The two of them looked so cute together and behaved like teenagers. They kept staring at C.

“She has your hands!”

“She has YOUR nose!”

“Remember the time when…”

They laughed and joked and played and reminisced. Our trip turned into a family reunion. It was the best birthday my wife ever had.

The next night, we went to a small hamburger-joint/ice-cream-parlor. While sitting there, C’s birth mother and father discovered the plot to break them up all those years ago.

It started with a flippant remark. Something about the girl he dated after she left to have the baby. It turns out it was a set-up and a one-time thing to cheer him up for when she disappeared.

“When you didn’t answer my letters, I thought you’d moved on,” she said.

His face fell. “What letters?”

“I wrote to you every day for the first month”

His eyes glassed over.

She continues. “…and you never…”

He shakes his head.

They sit silently, connecting the dots. They each thought the other had left them.

He never knew why she left so abruptly without a word, she never knew why he ignored her explanation and dated someone else while she was gone. Even though they went to high school together for another year and saw each other at the annual homecoming game, this was the first time they had ever talked about their breakup.

Shortly after graduation, C’s mother met the love of her life, to whom she’s still married. She lives on a large plot of land. Part farm, part ranch, part homestead – it has hayfields, a barn, a cabin and two houses (with a third coming soon) – along with horses, llamas, rabbits, cats, and dogs.

We’ll be staying in the cabin.

C’s father married twice. The second time stuck. He has a child for each marriage. He lives a few towns over.

C’s mother never had any other children.

They seem like nice enough people, and I look forward to knowing them better.

I don’t have to begin packing until Saturday. I know this because I have packing down to a science. I’ve done it enough times.

When my wife and I were first married, we moved every six months. Sometimes less than six months if writing wasn’t paying the bills and there were no Help Wanted signs to be seen.

It was more like apartment hopping than moving, even if our friends did have to drive 50 or 60 extra miles to come see us.

As the years passed, the corporate job that overworked/underpaid Caren kept us from getting too far in any one direction, but when you work sales you don’t have to report into the office in person very often and she never minded a long drive.

Six months, move. Six months, move. Six months, move. For vacation, we’d go even farther. We were itching to get away.

As the 90s wound on and the money got better, a short flight became cheaper than long drive. The distance grew.

Our last three stops were nine months, twenty-two months, and now… two years and eight months.

Wow. Has it really been that long? No wonder Seattle feels like home. It feels good to have a place on this dusty ball where we feel that way.

Our stop in Seattle wasn’t planned. Originally, San Luis Obispo, California was going to be our home. My wife was going to quit the rat race in nine months, and we were going to move to the coast and flip hamburgers for tourists. Then three things happened.

First, a 6.5 earthquake in San Simeon crumbled much of SLO County. Second, the rat-race job that was going to be paying for all of this got wind of the plan and fired Caren four months early. Third… third is for another post.

So nine months became twenty-two months and SLO became Vancouver, BC.

Vancouver, BC became “Seattle for a few months while we get approved for Permanent Resident status.” Without rat-race jobs you have to have proof of funds. $12659 Canadian. In the nearly three years we’ve been here, we’ve watched the exchange rate play with our emotions, but we stayed optimistic and saved our pennies.

Then, eight weeks ago, my wife found her birth mother.

Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

I’m a bit of a beach bum. The sun, the sand, the surf, the sun, the people. The sun. I’m a bit solar powered. Nothing sounds better than a day outside, and a day at the beach is like a double-espresso shot of sunshine.

A short drive up the road is a small cafe called The Purple Cow. It’s a great place to grab lunch before heading back to Golden Gardens to watch the sunset and maybe stick around a while for the bonfires.

I spent many an evening strolling up the sidewalk hand-in-hand with Caren, stopping to sit on a log and plunge our toes into the sand, getting an ice cream from the small stand at the end of the walk, or sitting on a bench curled in a blanket watching the sun disappear over the mountains in the western sky beyond Puget Sound.

When we first landed, we were flat broke, had nowhere to live, no jobs, and only enough money to survive for 90 days. The first meal we ate was at Dick’s.

“Gimme a cheese, a deluxe, two fry, a chocolate, and large coke.” was spoken twenty more times before summer was over. Cheap, fast, and the best darned little burger I’d eaten in over a thousand miles.

Mmm. A cheeseburger sounds good right about now. I wonder if that guy is still selling bubble tea out of the edge of QFC? It would give me a chance to stroll up Broadway and do a little window shopping.

Besides, I need a souvenir. Can you get a souvenir cheeseburger?

[The Tech portions of this article has moved.]

For the first two weeks after we land, we’re staying in some kind strangers home until our cabin is ready.

The cabin is only accessible by golf cart.

…and by ready, I mean “has a toilet”. The bathtub is outside, which I guess is OK for spring and summer – but I will have to do something about it eventually, but I think a new fuse box is top priority.

I’m currently living in a house that’s been converted into five apartments. I live in the back half of the ground floor, overlooking the back deck and beyond that is the coy pond and storage shed.

When we first moved into the place, we were in the basement, but the low ceilings started freaking me out so they let us switch.

My landlord is my upstairs neighbor. He’s a pretty decent guy. He’s getting married this afternoon.

All in all, it’s a decent place to live. The only drawback is my landlord’s dog.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s a sweet dog, but she’s kinda clingy. For the first two months I lived here, the dog would immediately scratch on my door after her owner left for work, and demanded to spend the day with me.

Stupid dog with her stupid big sad puppy dog eyes.

That’s not why she’s a drawback.

When spending the day with her, she’d lay at my feet while I wrote or edited. With her flaky, smelly skin against my feet. If I made the mistake of touching her, I would be forced to scratch her for hours at a time.

That’s not why she’s a drawback, either. It turns out it was a food allergy, and she’s healthier and happier.

The reason why she’s a drawback is because we aren’t giving notice that we’re moving out.

We’re not skipping out on our rent, or on our lease. (We don’t have a lease) But we’re not giving notice until we are 100% certain that the move is this month, and not next… and we won’t know that for another week.

Besides, he has wedding things to worry about. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.

And while he is off exchanging vows – I will be moving all of my moving boxes from the storage shed into our apartment. I’ll be moving out while he’s on his honeymoon.

How does this make the dog a drawback? It doesn’t.

I just have nothing to write about and “I’ve got to get the boxes out of storage”, “My landlord’s getting married” and “Hey, there’s Scuffins!” was all I had to work with.

No one can enter or exit the parking lot. It’s 8:30am, the car carrier is still sitting against the security gate’s pole and the gate itself is opening and closing on itself and the empty carrier. Traffic on Shelby starts picking up.

I try lifting.

It lifts, but Caren is too tired to push it.

We switch.

I try pushing, it won’t budge, because Caren is too tired to lift it.

I’m ready to break down and cry when a kindly stranger appears. OK, that’s not true. I’m ready to scream and kick the carrier when a guy walked up and I was embarrassed that I wanted to act like a baby.

He lifts, I push and slowly the carrier starts to move. First one inch, then two, then three. We shift our weight and try to get it to turn. The twisted piece of metal that was once the wheel well rubs against the warm rubber tire making a noise and a smell that reminded me of how well the morning was going.

No longer pointed at the gate’s pole, we set it free. It rolled into the street. We now had enough room to move the truck out of the parking lot.

Looking at the now very dented wheel well, I suddenly become aware that every tool I own (nee.. every THING I own) is packed away in the moving van – not that I owned a dent puller or a crow bar or anything remotely appropriate, but at this point even a hammer would be helpful.

Caren says “Oh!”, turns around, and leaves me to bake in the morning sun while I stand in the street with cars swerving around our disabled carrier.

A minute later she returns with a tool.
That’s about as specific I can get.

“This is all I can get to”, she declares while handing it to me.

It’s a piece of the Element’s jack. The crank, I think. It’s not really a tire tool, not really a crow bar, and not really helpful, but it was all we had.

The surgery didn’t have to be beautiful, it just had to work. After twenty minutes of each of us giving it all the strength we had, the metal was no longer rubbing against the tire.

More cars drive around us, slowing down to see what we’re up to.

We decide that the best way to proceed would be to attach the car carrier to the moving van, then park the duo against the curb.

Caren, now behind the wheel of a 15-foot moving van filled to almost double capacity, turns the key. The truck is brand new. We are just the second people to rent it. The engine comes to life and the hulk moves forward, down the slope of the parking lot, past the car carrier in the street, and into the driveway of the building across from us.

She cuts the wheel to the left, and drops it into reverse. With the expertise of a pro, she backs the van up to the trailer putting the hitch directly where it need to be. My jaw drops.

I think back to my trailer-hitch training from my childhood.

The hook thingee goes over the ball thingee… check! The ball thingee gets locked. Hmmm… how do you lock one of these things? It doesn’t look like the one I had growing up. I guess I should have watched the instructional video more than once and closer to moving day rather than six weeks before the move, right before my first viewing of Shrek 2.

I push, I pull, I stand on the thing…. nothing seems to lock it. Then I twist it to the left and it pops into place! Will it come unlocked? That question won’t be answered for 2300 miles. I put the safety pin in place so it won’t unlock on it’s own and continue the hooking up process.

I attach the brake cable to the van so the trailer will have brakes (it’s kinda important), and open the wire box for the final connections. It looked as if R2-D2 had thrown up in there. As I fight with the wires, a large cement truck pulls out of the construction zone down the street and starts coming toward us…

So as we sat there in the dark in an ever-increasingly warm apartment, Caren realized how tired she was and we put off leaving until morning.

Jason bid us adieu, and we went to “bed”. (“Bed” being the futon mattress without any extra padding on the hard wooden floor).

Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the lights came back on. Oh, well – at least we now have air conditioning.

Come morning, we realize how unfinished we actually were. Boy, that place was dirty!

After another couple of hours scrubbing, wiping, and sweeping we were ready to leave.

The car carrier needed to be moved to the street. As it started picking up momentum going down the hill, I realized that I had no control of the steering. Caren stood between the hard steel wheel well (which was quickly approaching) and the hard steel beam of the security gate. The only word to come out of my mouth was “MOVE!!!!!” Luckily, she listened.

She took two steps back just in time to keep both her legs from getting crushed.

BAM!!

Now the wheel well is dented and rubbing against the tire – and the whole thing is too heavy for me to move alone. It’s stuck. It’s 8:30am and beginning to get warm.

Two weeks before I even start packing, I’m going a bit stir crazy. With nothing to do but think about moving, I got to thinking about our move here. Here’s an excerpt from that tale:

Shortly after you left us to finish packing, things slowed down. The intense heat and the long hours started catching up with us. We grabbed a bite to eat and kept working, figuring a snail’s pace is still faster than stopping. The hours marched on. Darkness fell. It cooled to a nice 97 degrees outside. Then, my body chose to turn against me. Caren and Jason had to finish packing without me. I tried to help, but I was just in the way – or in the bathroom.

Sometime around 10pm, insanity started gripping Jason. When the moving van was full, but the apartment wasn’t empty – I think his mind snapped. Desperate to finish, He stuck things where ever they’d fit. It didn’t matter what it was.

As the mercury dropped to a breezy 92 degrees around midnight, I started feeling better and began to realize that Jason was muttering to himself and packing garbage.

After several tries, we finally got everything in the moving van except for the futon mattress, our luggage for the trip, and my plants. Those things would have to go in the Element. It was 1:00am.

I was awake, but who knew for how long. Caren wanted to get on the road immediately. I told her it was a bad idea, that we needed food and sleep. She wouldn’t hear of it. She swept the floor and “finished” cleaning while Jason and I went to get Wendy’s (not knowing if I’d ever eat it again) and pow-wowed on how to change her mind. We couldn’t come up with anything. We were too tired.

When we got back to the apartment, we sat down and started eating – and then the electricity went out.

Tackling the To Do list, I started simple: Rolling all our spare change. I didn’t realize how quickly change adds up when you don’t fish the quarters out for the laundromat. (Our landlord finally fixed the washing machine.)

Grand total, One hundred and fifty-five dollars, not including the pennies.

It’s a little weird to see your entire life on five sheets of paper, but there it is on the back of my door.

To Do:

I am about to move from Seattle, Washington to a small farm in Texas.

I’m a city dweller. I don’t know if I even own shoes appropriate for off-concrete use.

Where will I get fresh tofu? I don’t like the grocery store brands. I get my stuff from a small unmarked store on 12th Street in the Central District. $1 per brick of still-warm curd. It’s sunshine in a bag.

Now, I’m about to go live on a farm and help tend horses for 18 months.

Barring any financial disaster, the moving van is due here on April 30.

Well, I have to make it there first.

[This post has moved]