NP: John Cage, 4'33"

No, this doesn't have anything to do with feeling out of place in the new place. It has to do with the fact that, unlike the character in the Peter Gabriel song, I don't know how to move quietly, creeping across creaky wooden floors. And they are creaky.

The move seems to have gone well, although there are some boxes they carried upside down that I'm a little worried about, and there's the small matter of an overly amorous member of the crew -- no, not towards me -- that will get a maddeningly slight mention here. The take-home, or take-new-home message is that I have a lot of stuff. The movers handled the real detritus of the office, in particular, to the point where I'm almost afraid to open some of those boxes.

Cable is up and running. Phone is up and running, but last I checked, not with the right number. I'm still missing a kitchen counter and my name's not on the buzzer (I finally have a buzzer!) or the mailbox. But progress is slowly being made. Later tonight, I hope to actually rediscover my desk, but it's more likely that I'll just watch TV and recuperate. And if you must know, I didn't actually transport the cable box to my new apartment last night until after it finished recording The Sopranos.