The boxes are multiplying
They have a life of their own. One by one, sometimes even two by two, they appear in my bedroom and in the basement. I’ll walk away for a moment and then return and there’s another box. I guess that’s what happens when you spend an entire weekend packing. Delusions have taken control and the future that awaits me is becoming more of a mirage than a reality.
Am I really moving? Is there going to be a life waiting for me on the other side? Will it be better? Different, that’s for sure. But not too different, at the rate I’m holding onto things.
Letting go of this life is one thing, letting go of the physical representations of this life – quite another. The little things are easy for me to discard. I’m donating or trashing a lot of my clothes and knick knacks. There’s a vacuum in that pile I found on the side of the road (thinking I was rescuing it for a better home) that never worked. Stuff like that I don’t mind leaving behind.
It’s the sentimental stuff, and the fancy stuff, that I have a hard time parting with. Like this desk I’m writing at right now. I love it. It’s kind of funky but I love it. I’ve written some good stuff here. And my mom helped me paint it green and black, which is really unique and cool. And there’s the purple shoe bench I found (and this was definitely a rescue mission) and restored. These are the things I’m having a hard time just selling off.
Thankfully, I don’t have to. My work is providing some relocation money (whoever heard of that for a teacher?) and so I’m shipping some of my favorite things just because. As my Memorial Day packing weekend comes to a close, here are a few tips for folks moving cross country (or any far distance) that I found helpful:
- PODs are expensive and there are a lot of hidden fees
- Amtrak ships boxes (not furniture) to and from any Amtrak station – $250 for 500 lbs
- Greyhound has a shipping service that does ship furniture for about $1 a lb + fees
- Fly Southwest – you can take up to 200 lbs for just $100 in baggage fees
- Sell everything you don’t want (even the little things) on craigstlist – you’ll make $
And if you’re not moving any time soon, look around. You’ve got it good. Now stay put with the things you have and don’t get too attached – you may not have it for too long.
- Jeff
For once, it wasn’t me (update)
It wasn’t until last night that I realized what had set off the events of yesterday. If you haven’t heard:
And I have to admit – it feels great to not be responsible for missing my flight. I mean, sure, I could have prepared better, but who would have guessed my alarm would fail? I’ve spent that last few hours contemplating how else this might have affected people’s days. Of course, it mostly affected people like me, who needed to be somewhere unusually early in the morning. Missing an airplane (although obviously a pain) is nothing fatal, but I feel like it’s one of the more serious consequences of the alarm glitch. What else could have happened?
Late to work? Not good, but they would have to understand.
Late to meet a date for morning coffee? An offense, to be sure, but they’d have to sympathize.
Late to an interview? Now that’s bad, but once again, you’ve got a great excuse.
Ok, so I can’t think of anything really that bad. Missing an airplane, and needing to pay and re-plan your day, is probably one of the larger inconveniences posed by the glitch. I’ll have to give this some more thought.
In the meantime, I’m taking Continental and Apple to task. It’s time to invoke my consumer rights and register some complaints. I’ll let you know what I get out of it.
I’m hoping for a pony.
- Jeff
This is it
And it’s not going to be much. Or very deep. And I’m not explaining why I’ve been absent for so long. You’ll understand soon enough.
For now, I just spent my first day of the year in shambles.
Cut to 5:40 am and Andrew nudges me awake. My flight, as planned, departs at 6 am from SFO. Twenty minutes, give or take, just wasn’t going to be enough, no matter how hard I wished it. A bit delusional, I dressed as quick as I could (mumbling obscenities under my breath, and wondering aloud why I’m always the target of conspiracies). Interestingly enough, we were by the airport by 6:30 – a faster turnaround than expected.
The teller had an accent I couldn’t really understand. His name was Jaz. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that name. I wanted to call him Jay-Z, but I didn’t. I thought that wouldn’t help the situation. Jaz ended up getting me rerouted onto another flight just an hour later, landing me in Philadelphia just 3 hours after my original itinerary would have gotten me there. Not bad. $50 penalty fee later, I booked it to the gate.
Middle seat, damn it. But who was I to ask for anything more? I sat between two really nice and quiet Asian ladies who knew each other. Part of me wondered if they wanted to sit next to each other. I should ask, I thought to myself more than once. Then I could get an aisle or (even better) window seat. But I didn’t, mostly because I also thought that perhaps they planned it this way – to have a stranger sit between them. That would be odd, wouldn’t it? But I figured if that was the case, I’d better not force them into an uncomfortable moment, when they’d either have to bite their lips and switch seats, or say no and risk seeming estranged, or worse, just strange.
Five hours later, I landed in Newark. Almost home. I had checked my carry on bag at the gate in SFO because the plane was too full. So I waited at the tarmac stairs to pick it up until a man approached me and explained that the bag was checked to my final destination. Easy enough.
Upon arrival, however, the bag was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately I was too slow to realize it and got stuck behind a Spanish-speaking woman who also lacked her proper luggage. The language barrier wasn’t helping anyone and their slow conversation took about 30 minutes to get through. She didn’t annoy me at all. What annoyed me was my inability to help. I wanted to jump in and rattle it all out in Spanish, saving the day and getting on with our lives. Instead, I just stood there, as frustrated as her. But when it was my turn, I had the words to get what I needed in a jiffy. It wasn’t long before we figured it out that the little bag had never left California.
And by that time I wanted nothing more than to switch places with that bag. To be sitting in that airport, close to my family and friends, close to the future that is awaiting my return in five short months. I’d wait in a room full of lost luggage to have that feeling again.
But before I could give it much more thought, I remembered something. My keys. My house keys. They were in the bag, in California.
Happy New Year. And if this is it, then it’s gonna be one hell of a year.
Might as well write it all down.
- Jeff
Fall
I realize not every kid dreams about visiting the Northeast in the fall, but not every kid’s mom is obsessed with landscapes. Whether it’s a sunset or a flower, my mom can literally take hundreds of pictures of the most simple things in nature. To me, I see the same thing over and over and over again. To her, the beauty can’t be captured in one frame. I grew up with a hyper-awareness about foliage and the seasons. She even convinced my entire family (me excluded) to get their “colors” done. It was all the rage in the late 90′s – someone uses your complexion, hair color and facial features to determine which “season” you are and thereby which colors you should wear to accentuate your true beauty. Apparently I’m a summer.
This all led me to Vermont this past weekend to take a look at the seasons change for myself. The Northeast is particularly well known for the transition from summer to fall, when the leaves slowly morph from green to brights shades of yellow, orange and red. The landscape, when taken in from a distance, can look awe inspiring. I went expecting to be blown away. In the end, I wasn’t so much shocked by the color as I was comforted by the overwhelming feeling of fall.
Undeniably, part of that comfort came from the company. I went with Andrew and a few of his friends from college. They were fantastic fellow tourists and made the trip a blast. We spent most of our time together in the car (the drive is about 6 hours north of NYC), but there wasn’t a moment I felt bored. Our goal was to take part in as many fall activities as possible. This included a jaunt in an apple orchard, completing a corn maze at night, touring the Ben & Jerry’s factory outside Burlington and trying fresh apple cider. Not everything we attempted was a success. The corn maze had closed an hour before we got there, and breaking and entering wasn’t on our originally itinerary, so we skipped it.
The apple orchard was probably the most fun I’ve had in an open field in a while. There were so many apples! Everywhere! On the ground, in the trees – it was an apple fantasy land. We got these long claw baskets (like apple lacrosse) that we used to fish the apples from their branches. We managed to fill up a few bags to take home and Erika is planning to make apple pie this week. Also, don’t underestimate the satisfying feeling of crushing an apple with your foot. I dare you to try it outside on the sidewalk. Just lay an apply on crush it – kind of like the sensation people get form popping air bubbles.
Some highlights…
- Jeff
Oh, Mom
Not too much to this one. The picture really says it all. My mom was traveling in Turkey and broke her ankle on a rocky shore. Bad luck, but she made the best of it. During her surgery and casting, she was without her usual amenities. But that didn’t stop her from looking good. This picture just cracked me up.
I’d love to know what that nurse is thinking….
“And I thought sponge baths were bad.”
I love you, Mom! Welcome home!
- Jeff
48 hours in Monterey
I took a break from Elk Grove this weekend and made a getaway to Monterey with my dad, uncles and sister. I had forgotten how breathtaking the beauty of the west coast can be, but was reminded every time I looked around. The rhythms of crashing waves, the towering boulders on the shore (how, exactly, did they get there?) and small roads that somehow seem to blend with the beaches, sand encroaching on the pavement and blurring the line between nature and civilization. A much needed vacation that allowed for some thinking and quality time with people I love.
My uncles brought up some bikes and we spent most of the weekend riding around town, making our way down 17-mile drive and into Carmel, and taking a trip downtown for a deli lunch. There were definitely times I felt overpowered by the hills, but whenever I felt my legs start to tremble, I either tried harder (my thighs hurt like hell now) or I stopped and walked my bike. Sometimes you just have to give in.
And of course we had to put in some time at the Monterey Bay Aquarium – one of the best in the world (and it lives up to its reputation). There is a special exhibit on seahorses that was totally fascinating. Those little creatures are absolutely amazing. I got a close up look at a lot of different specimens – all extremely diverse. Some had extra appendages to help develop a convincing camouflage – they actually looked like kelp and coral. Super cool. But more than their looks, I got really into their reproductive practices. The male, not the female, holds and gives birth to the offspring. The seahorse is the only animal to do so, as the male takes on the biological incubation of the eggs. We even got to see a taped birth, which I recommend watching here (make sure your sitting down… it might take a while).
All in all, a great aquarium. My only complaint: cameras. People need to stop taking so many damn pictures of things. Just see it for what it is and try your best to remember it without shoving a camera phone in the way or setting up a tripod in front of the exhibit (that really happened). I mean – it was ridiculous, there were literally 15 cameras at one point, all centered on a small glass window of seahorses. I say if you want a memory, head for the gift shop on your way out.
Despite the fish paparazzi, I loved the aquarium. And despite the short trip, I loved the city itself. I’ll be back, and if you ever think of making your way down the coast, check out NYTimes’ Travel Guide. They have some great tips and planning tools to make a short or long vacation easy and worthwhile.
- Jeff
& Found
In the few hours since I had left D.C., Georgetown was looking mighty good. It felt like a re-birth into the normal habits of my life. I was no longer in the Georgetown bubble. If anyone questioned whether I’ve changed in the last four years, look no further. I’m not one to complain or lament about the little hassles of life, but I do tend to poke fun at myself as a means of dealing with them. And this is one of those moments. So don’t feel bad for me – laugh at me.
There was no laughing, though, in this moment. I was in an empty train station, without money, I.D. or a phone to call a friend. Like a scene out of a melodramatic movie, I hit fell back on the concert behind me, and slid down the wall until I hit bottom, face in my hands. I didn’t cry because I was upset about the situation itself. I cried because I was at a breaking point. But in facing the crisis before me, there was a moment of clarity. The only thing that came to mind in that empty train station was, “I just want to go home.” And I wasn’t thinking about the home where my boxes were waiting to be filled. I wanted to be back with my family, who I haven’t really seen in 6 months and who I miss terribly. I wanted to be home, and the journey getting there was taking its toll.
A few minutes later, I composed myself and stumbled upstairs to the lobby, searching for the sign that would lead me customer service. Once I arrived, I was greeted by a woman behind the counter who seemed to not really care about my dilemma. Her lackluster attempts to help were frustrating. I suppose she hears these stories 20 times a day, but that’s her job. Her job is to help me and make me feel like a valued customer. Her job is to give me some direction, damn it. Not make me feel guilty about it, or hopeless about getting things straight. Instead, she gave me a generic form to fill out, which she slowly entered into the system. Without a phone, I asked for a courtesy call. But who to call?
Erika. She had my house keys. She had money. She could save me. And suddenly everything was ok. I took a taxi to her dorm and we headed over to the house. I felt safe, calm and taken care of, and it hit me – I have one my best friends just a heartbeat away. After going a year on my own, I was just getting used to the idea of having her around again. In times like these, good friends make all the difference. By the time we were home, Erika had already written down a list of Amtrak numbers to call to track my claim, and sent a text message to my phone with her number to call if someone found it. In a way that only Erika can pull off, she had turned a crisis into something manageable. And she gave me an idea.
My phone was in my backpack. And if you know me, you know it’s not just a cell phone, it’s an iPhone. And if you know anything about iPhones you know they are magical. Just a day before I left (literally, on Thursday), I had downloaded a new feature that allows you to track your iPhone on GPS if it’s lost or stolen. Using my Apple account, I was able to log in and locate my phone as it traveled up the New England coast. From NYC to Rhode Island and Boston, my phone stayed with the train. An hour later, I at least knew no one had taken the phone off the train. It was safe.
At each train stop, we contacted the stations and told them our situation. They were helpful and ended up telling us to wait until it reached Boston to speak with someone. Another great feature of Find my iPhone is that you can send it a message and alarm to alert people. I sent it like 3 messages – and I’m sure the people on the train were pissed that someone’s phone kept going off. Eventually, though, it paid off. In the final miles of the trip, we got a call from a man on the train. He had heard the alarm and read the message. I thanked him and asked him to take it to the baggage center. Amtrak took care of things from there. They packed it in a box and sent it back to Philly on the last train of the day. I picked it up this morning with a sigh of relief.
My iPhone was still on – 36 hours later – and the goods were all still intact. I was lucky. This I realize. But I was also stupid to pack so much. And Amtrak was also stupid for closing their train doors so fast. Apple, however, was not stupid. They made a phone for people like me, and that’s no small feat.
So thank you Apple.
Thank you Amtrak.
Thank you Erika.
- Jeff
Lost
My fellowship program ended Friday, and my next destination was Philly. It wasn’t home, but it meant I was one step closer. Boxes were waiting to be filled and moved, and so I said my farewells to Georgetown and D.C. I had a great summer, met some great people and learned a lot there. At some point, I’ll reflect on it a bit more deeply. For now, a few words to sum it up: the Constitution, an imperfect but impressive one at that, took hella work to write. Two more words: good riddance. I need to move on before I can look back.
But before I could move on, I needed to pack a few things in Georgetown. You see, my roommate Becca drove me to the institute in her car, and I brought a lot of stuff with me. What can I say…I wanted to be comfortable. So in addition to my clothes and sheets, I brought a lamp, fan, cane umbrella, etc. I mean, it was ridiculous. Getting things back to Philadelphia was not going to be as easy. My fellowship had paid for a business class ticket on Amtrak, leaving Friday at 2 PM, so I needed to somehow get everything onto that train and I would be fine. Before I set out on my journey to the train station, I did a test run with my friends to make sure I could actually carry it all. As you can see, I could. Doesn’t mean it was going to be easy.
Fast forward to Union Station. I had remembered my train left at 2 PM, and looked it up on the schedule monitor. Gate K, D.C. to Boston via Philadelphia: Departing 2:05 PM. I stumbled over to Gate K, dropping a few things here and there, making jokes when people stared at me. It was humorous enough to be kind of fun, despite the pain-in-the-ass nature of it all. I keep telling myself – I’m young, I can do this kind of stuff. One day, I’ll just look crazy and it won’t be as funny.
When I got to my train, there was a line with about 150 people. It was not so much a line as a gathering, and so I eventually weaseled my way to the doors. Without a free hand, I gestured to the ticket-man to check my tag, which was stuffed into my front pocket. I should have known what was about to happen. “Wrong train,” he said, “you missed it 5 minutes ago.” Turns out my train actually left a 2 PM, not 2:05. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of train station has two trains going to the same place 5 minutes apart, but the question was moot at this point. I had other problems to deal with…like getting out of line and finding another train home.
I wasn’t about to stumble around the station again with all my things, so in my moment of fluster and frustration, dropped my things by the counter and headed for the information booth. A few minutes later, after finding out where to go, I came back to gather my things and found a random guy looking over my bags. Apparently you’re not supposed to leave your bags unattended. No shit. I knew that, but I guess someone had to send me a message.
“Sir, are these yours?”
“Yes, actually, I just had to talk to someone real quick – sorry for leaving my things.”
“You can’t just leave things here, you know, I was about to call the police.”
Understandable enough.
“I’m so sorry – I get it and won’t do it again.”
Apparently not enough for him.
“Please be more considerate next time – you really gave me a scare.”
Seriously? A scare? My rolled up foam mattress, Jansport backpack and Zara bag scared you? It was weird, but I was able to move on with some sense of humility and a lesson learned. I stumbled over to the ticket counter and got the next train to Philly, just 30 minutes later at this point. I got on board, stuffed my luggage into the holding carriage and found a seat. The next hour was nice enough. I watched an episode of Weeds and ate a banana. Business class was spiffy, and although I was the only one in street clothes, I was able to relax and take a deep breath. I thought the hassle had passed. I thought my day was going to get easier. Ha.
We were in Philadelphia an hour later, and I quickly got up to prep my stuff. I knew it would take a few trips to grab my bags and throw them on the platform. The doors opened, and I carried off my first two big bags, and went back for my carry-ons. But this time, the door wasn’t open. And the train was moving. I stood in complete silence – no pounding on the door, no running after the train. It was actually quite non-dramatic. I just stood there and watched the train disappear, along with my wallet, phone and laptop.
- Jeff
Rosslyn
If you want to get around D.C. you have to use the Metro subway system. It’s pleasantly clean and easy to use, compared to Philly’s SEPTA and New York’s MTA Subway. If you want to get into Georgetown, though, you’ll need to take a bus or walk a mile. Apparently, the river that separates Georgetown from central D.C. is too deep to build a bridge station. There was also a bunch of halla-haloo about the possibility of a station in city because residents didn’t want outsiders storming their pretty little streets. For now, people have to take a shuttle bus or walk to Rosslyn Station. It ends up taking about 15 minutes extra, which is annoying.
But more annoying is when you get to the station itself. You don’t just hop on the train. No. You have to take a two minute (yes, I timed it) escalator ride into the bowels of earth. The escalator is 
actually not the longest in D.C., but it is third longest continuous-span escalator in the world. See for yourself. It literally feels like you are falling into an abyss. I have to hold onto the railing to stop myself from tripping out and tripping on something, falling to my death, 437 feet down. If you google “Rosslyn station is scary,” you’ll find a catalog of pictures and blogs about it. I’m not the only one, and that gives me some comfort. It doesn’t mean I’m going to endure the Drop Zone of escalators for long, though. I’ve been taking the bus into town, or stopping at the next closest station at Dupont. Call me a baby, but I’m not going to die on an escalator, damn it.
- Jeff
DewGood
For those iPhone users out there, you’ll like a recently NYTimes reviewed app called “DoGood,” which basically proposes good deeds for people to perform on a daily basis. Beyond just offering ideas, DoGood tracks the number and location of the deeds across iPhone users, allowing you to see where good things are happening on a local and global level. Another nice feature, “Stories,” gives people the opportunity to post a short story (no more then 250 characters) about their good deed. It becomes a forum for how to perform random acts of kindness, and can actually be kind of entertaining. If you are an iPhone user, I recommend it, available for free in the iTunes Application Store.
I’m talking about DoGood, not because I’m being paid by them or am obsessed with my iPhone, but because a good deed ended up playing out in a funny way the other day. The DoGood deed for the day was “Pick up a piece of litter or trash and recycle or throw it away.” Earnestly looking for a means to rack up my DoGood points, I had my eyes peeled for misplaced trash. But I ended up finding it in an unexpected place.
Jackie Norris, a former Madison Fellow, was selected as Michelle Obama’s Chief of Staff in January, but was recently shuffled 
around the White House to another position. Regardless, her affiliation with the Madison Fellowship got us a private morning tour at the White House last week. We had to wake up at 6 AM to get there by 7 and make our way through security. I had been on a tour before, but it was nothing like this. We had our own Secret Service agent take us in and through the rooms. We didn’t get to see the West Wing or anything crazy like that, but it gave us a nice personal touch of what happens in the house on any given day. We got to see the kid’s swing set by the Oval Office and the room where Obama famously killed the fly. It is always a strange feeling to be so close to people like that. In so many ways, it’s just another building and he’s just another man. More than play up the grandeur of the Presidency, the house made him feel more human.
The funniest part of the whole experience, though, was my discovery of an empty Mountain Dew bottle in one of the rooms. It was just laying there, next to a 17th century vase and French imported Victorian couch. I was kind of appalled and instinctively picked it up. The guide looked at me strangely at the end of the tour, and I’m sure he thought I had been drinking it in the house. For a quick second, I considered selling it on eBay and claiming it was Obama’s. And then I remembered my DoGood deed and threw it in the recycling bin. I immediately got out my iPhone, checked off my deed for the day and wrote my story. It’s an app that has made random acts of kindness not so random and a little more regular. But if that means good things happen more, then I’m all for it.
- Jeff
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