Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Disasters In Moving: Vol. 1

Is the homepage of CJ just fodder for your life? Or is my life just fodder for these homepages?

Sometimes it’s tough to tell.

Like I had mentioned last time, I was in the midst of the idyllic summer – free of possessions, one with the ocean, and liberated from responsibility. Although it seemed the movers were taking slightly longer than they should have to get my shit out here – I was actually starting to take pleasure in it. Maybe all those worldly possessions were just weighing me down – who really needs the plasma TV, computers, internet, and all that other stuff to clutter your life? Maybe, like Catholics held in bondage in their stained glass prisons, I too, was subservient to material possessions. I passed my time idly surfing, reading more, playing guitar, and skim boarding. I was losing weight, feeling happier, and was maybe even at peace with the word…

Maybe, just maybe -- Things are as they should be.

And then…

I am sitting in my empty apartment when my cell phone rings. In a very think Mexican accent, "Yo esse, it’s the cable guy. I am here to hook up your cable man."

"Right on, come right up." I reply.

"I am man. I’ve been knocking at your door for fifteen minutes."

That was odd. I didn’t here anyone knocking.

"You are at 219 15th Street, right esse?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"I am at your door man. Open it up."

So, I wander outside my building and look at my street address for the first time. Indeed, I wasn’t at 219 at all, I lived in 307!! My landlord had given me the wrong address weeks before I came out! Fuck! This was a moderately major fuck-up. So, like I was saying, I was starting to become somewhat happy with my life free of possessions, but I can tell you that I wasn’t nearly as happy as the nice Portuguese couple down at 219 for whom I had:

Switched their power into my name.
Hooked up with free cable.
Taken over their gas bill for them.
Had tens of thousand of dollars in checks forwarded to their mailbox.
Had delivered to them a brand new surround sound plasma TV, new furniture, California king bed, new stuff for their kitchen, a brand new wardrobe, plus every other thing I owned.

You know, I wish I could say my moving woes ended there, but they don’t. If you love abject tale of human misery, set the misery index to "infernal overkill" for Disasters In Moving: Vol. 2: Empire Movers Strike Back.

They’ve got a name for the winners in the world. I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. They call me JCQ…

HB, 714, OC 4 Life…Bishes,