Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Moving Day Blues

  As I relace (by the way Webster does not acknowledge this word "relace") my moving shoes, my thoughts wander through the past eleven years. I know these shoes well. Somehow they are comfortable even after many years of neglect. Maybe I am a Gypsy.

"Medusa" by Jonathan Ewert
  There are many details to work out. Dates need to be studied schedules need to be changed. Cable men worry the mind the most. Checkbooks stretch and creak, under the immense weight of deposits and fees. I recently found out what a concession fee was. What a holy crock of manure this concept is. By the way, breaking a lease brings out the Medusa apartment lease ladies. Anyway, Concession Fees are the monies that one would have paid if the lessor had not given such a remarkable deal. Such as, fifty bucks off the monthly rent (because possibly my hair was quite coiffed on a Wednesday). One must pay all of these discounts back as a penalty for being a Gypsy. People do not like us Gypsies. This is no good. (Go back and say those last two sentences with a crappy Russian accent to get the full effect.)

  I often wonder how much stuff I could get rid of. I have a full storage unit which I honestly have not missed much, save a barbecue grill and some fishing poles. I could just donate it all to charity and take a $3000 tax credit. No, the wife would not have that. We must have stuff. We must pack it in endless boxes and take them down endless flights of stairs. I wonder if the Japanese Tsunami survivors miss their stuff. Wait, stop. They are not Americans who save everything and buy bigger stuff every day. They are all minimalists except for the Sumo wrestlers. I am sure that they have a lot of stuff. They are the most American Japanese... then again, maybe not. They are very important and religious allegedly. They have shrines. That is what is missing from the WWE. Shrines. That is the ticket.

  Oh yeah, stuff is everywhere. Boxes scribbled with nonsensical descriptions of the contents. "Bathroom" or "Greg's Crap" are the norm. Some are unreadable and look like designs from a Mayan calendar. I have stubbed my toe thrice this evening. Look at Gypsy feet. They tell a story.

  More to come.


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